


The Undercover Heiress

by LuxuriousRose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dimension Travel, Drama, F/M, Multiple Universes, Romance, Science Fiction, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 90,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxuriousRose/pseuds/LuxuriousRose
Summary: Updates Sunday Nights (EST)Radjerd Laurius is a well-intentioned man born on the wrong side of the tracks. When he finds out that his best friend’s father has a watch that can travel through dimensions, his hair stands on end. Alongside his best friend, Radjerd takes a stand against the influential billionaire—landing him in a world parallel to his own—face to face with the man he must stop.Cordelia Firthe fears for her life when a stranger holds her father at gunpoint. He’s imprisoned by Willa Corp, a mysterious underground corporation. When she interrogates the criminal named Radjerd, he strikes a deal with her—a date with the heiress—in exchange for the intel she craves. As the key to her independence, Cordelia doesn’t have a choice—she must help her father, no matter the sacrifice.As Radjerd feels his resolve begin to slip, and Cordelia finds herself swept away by his charms, their mission becomes critical—he’s left with an agonizing decision. Will he have the courage to return home—even if it means leaving Cordelia behind?





	1. Chapter 1

The rubber heel of Radjerd Laurius’s black-rimmed sneaker emanates a soft tapping sound against the tile floor. He catches the attention of his best friend Fitz, who narrows his vivid green eyes. Standing only an inch above Fitz, he peeks over the blond’s head, attempting to examine why the line was ambling. Usually, Twin Waves Café had efficient service—what gives? 

<It’s an hour after the rush.> Radjerd complains, sliding his hands into the pockets of his well-worn leather jacket. Fitz had told him repeatedly to exchange it for something classier, but Radjerd refused. No other coat could replicate how this one made him feel—like a movie star badass. <I want my berry tea, and I’m starting to suspect the person ahead of us is paying in dimes.> 

<Can’t you at least attempt to speak Weltish?> Fitz moans, his lean fingers edged between his brows. <You said you moved to Glade Bay to learn Weltish for yourself. I will not be your live-in translator, you know.> 

<That’s not the reason I invited you to live with me.> Radjerd mutters, kicking his heel. <You know I get lonely.> 

<Grow up.> Fitz combs his blond hair into place, lowering his head to whisper, <Could you stop saying shit like that? People will talk.> 

< _That’s_ what you’re worried about?> Radjerd withholds a chuckle. <And I’m the one who needs to grow up…> 

<You know how the press will twist our relationship. Now, why don’t you go practice your Weltish by ordering our drinks? The line’s cleared up.> Fitz crosses his arms, A smug blond brow raises, as his lips curved in amusement. It hurts how right off the bat, Fitz assumes he will mess up. He’s right, but he couldn’t back down from the challenge. 

Radjerd rolls his violet eyes—well, technically they were a shade of blue, but his mother had pride in her son having an unusual eye colour. Radjerd never corrected her—it was the only thing she praised him for. So, violet they became—on pre-school introductions, personal identifications, and last but not least, driver’s licenses. 

 “Hello, how may I serve you today?” Radjerd’s cue to talk to the cute service lady. Her pale skin compliments her chestnut hair—her deep brown eyes only enhancing her unique features. The gold band on her left-hand catches Radjerd’s eye as he sighs—she’s married. Radjerd glances at the nametag, Noralyn. Well, that should be easy enough to start with.   

“Hello, Noralyn.” Radjerd delivers with false confidence. Understanding and speaking to her used two different parts of his brain. Radjerd attempts to order, his tongue tripping him up. 

<It’s okay, I understand Antillan.> The brunette chuckles. <I might have eavesdropped—but not to be rude. It’s kind of hard when a mini-celebrity walks into your working establishment—erm—you know what I mean. I get so muddled up sometimes when I’m nervous.> 

How could Noralyn have the time to eavesdrop?

<I was on break, just came off moments ago—we have a new trainee.> 

<I see.> Well, that answers his question. Radjerd diverts the conversation back to Fitz. <He’s nothing to fawn over, believe me. He’s as boring as us normal folk—no—even more so.> Average was the only way he could describe _the_ Fitzpatrick Firthe—sole heir to Firthe Hotels and Suites. To this day, it bewilders him that this mini-celebrity ended up as his best friend. 

<Hey!> Fitz stomps over, his grin replaced with a curt frown. <I’m sorry for my friend’s indecent behaviour—he was supposed to be practicing his Weltish.> 

<I can refer you to a great Weltish tutor—as I mentioned, my husband is also St. Antillan. He spoke little Weltish when we first met, and now he speaks it perfectly! Anyway, that’s enough chatting—I don’t want to hold up the line. What would you like to drink?> 

<If I had a dime every time this guy credited my attributes to my family’s wealth, I wouldn’t even need a job.> Radjerd watches as Fitz cuts in front of him, ordering the Berry Tea that Radjerd specified, and a simple black coffee for himself. 

Radjerd offers a friendly wave to Noralyn and looks for a place to sit. The dark-haired man opts to sit down near the wide-spanning window, overlooking the beachside. Back home, beaches surrounded Radjerd, so it was an easy decision—he had to live near a beach. Glade Bay—a classy neighbourhood town that seemed exclusive to the rich. He chuckles to himself—He never imagined he would live in a classy neighbourhood.

Radjerd catches a brief glance of his reflection. He wasn’t a vain man, but he couldn’t stand what the humidity did to his hair—even with his partly shaved hairstyle, the fluff that remained made him look ridiculous. Blessed with wavy locks, his sister used to tease him; he looked like a poodle, so off the hair went—although nowadays it was acceptable to have it styled. When he gelled it to the side, at least it looked put together.  

Fitz sits down with the drinks in hand, brushing his blond tresses out of the way. He slides the Berry Tea over in Radjerd’s direction. 

<How was your first week? I feel bad for not dropping by as much as I should have, but you know me, I was deep in my research.> How could Radjerd forget?

<There’s a lot more activity than I was expecting.> Radjerd rolls his eyes. New night—new siren. He hadn’t realized he was a delicate sleeper until he moved to Glade Bay. <Not that I miss home, but I do miss the peace and quiet.> 

<Grateful, as always.> Fitz frowns, brushing his clean-shaven chin. <If you don’t like it, I’m sure my dad can pull some strings and find you a new place.> 

<It’s fine, I’ll get used to it. I can’t complain, he was generous enough to cover two month’s rent for me. I don’t know how to pay him back.> 

Fitz sips his drink. <I think he’s excited that you stuck around as long as you have.> 

<Two years isn’t that long.> Radjerd reminds him. 

<If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the best with people.> 

<You can’t be that bad if I stuck around.> 

Fitz smirks. <It’s because I bribed you to meet with me—hence the Berry Tea.> 

<True.> Radjerd nods. <But you forgot my meat sticks, so…> 

<You get your meat sticks after this meeting—you remember why I called you here?> 

The names Aleck Firthe and Willa Corp have been etched into his brain since spring began. Radjerd chalked it all to nonsense—that even rich guys must get bored occasionally. Until Aleck, Fitz’s father, sat them both down, proposing why he was on the edge of a great scientific discovery.

_He wanted to prevent his wife’s death—by time travelling to the past._

To Radjerd, the idea of time travel was impossible, but, he could empathize with Aleck. Who could argue with a man who mourned the death of his soulmate? There was no harm in letting the man dream—it may be his only way he could make peace with her absence. 

<Does it have to do with _you know what? >_ Radjerd does his best to be discreet. He wants no eavesdroppers thinking they’re kooks. Fitz has no such reservation. 

<Well, I was talking to one assistant there who’s wary about my dad’s involvement. She reached out to me in private.> 

<Maybe she wants a date.> 

Fitz glares at him. <I’m serious. She’s concerned about this project—she snuck me into the lab hoping I could reach my dad and convince him to abandon the idea completely. The woman showed me a demonstration. It was spooky—within a contained square-like enclosure, she could show me a crack in the air—a fracture—as she called it. That resulted from their current testing, and they ceased their involvement with the project. But here’s the thing—my dad’s still involved. He’s working with some ex-employee to get this project off of the ground. I showed him the evidence, but he didn’t care. He called them cowards—that he would not work with an industry that couldn’t prove ballsy enough to go through with their research.> 

<Do you have any proof? Not because I think you’re lying, but this is hard to believe.>

<Yes I have proof.> Fitz slips his sleek white phone out of his pocket, tapping the screen to play the video. <I was supposed to delete it, but I needed you to see this for yourself.>  

Radjerd braces himself, nerves creep in as Fitz hands him the phone. He notices right away it’s muted. His eyes can’t comprehend what the screen is showing him—in fact, he looks away—fear dripping through him. It’s a crack in the atmosphere, jagged and in mid-air. To imagine that something like that could spread if it wasn’t inside that box-like container. His gut screamed that this wasn’t possible.  He doesn’t notice that his free hand clenches into a tight fist.

<Scary, isn’t it? Now you’ve seen where my father’s research leads, I need you to help me stop him.> Worry laces his friend’s face.  

<What’s the Great Fitz need me to do? Your wish is my command.> 

Fitz shakes his head, unimpressed with Radjerd’s attempt to lighten the mood. <Let’s take our drinks to go—I can only show you my _solution_ in private.> Fitz gets up, the harsh scrape of the chair brings his attention to the present. He can’t focus, the shakiness of his hand almost spills his tea. 

The sun beats down upon Radjerd and Fitz as the two left the coffee shop—the temperature getting considerately hotter, and it wasn’t because of his nerves spiking. They approach the sleek white vehicle—Fitz unlocking it instantly. Radjerd hops into the passenger seat of the low-rise car. He can’t believe what he sees Fitz holding—a grey metallic hand pistol. 

<Where the hell did you find a _gun!? > _Radjerd was no stranger to metallic hand weapons—in fact, his hometown was riddled with them. It’s why he moved up north, _away_ from the chaos. Dread creeps into his bones. 

<Near the servant’s quarters, hidden away from the public eye. My dad’s got a private collection.> Fitz says, his face hard and calculating. He hands Radjerd the pistol. <You know how to use it.>

Radjerd coughs, <Fitz, you know I’d do anything for you—but murder?>

<God no! I’m not asking you to shoot my dad. But, we both know that my dad doesn’t listen to reason—we must destroy that catalyst ourselves.>

<Catalyst?> 

<It’s a watch-like device—the thing that caused that fracture. I want you to destroy it.> 

<Do you think it’s smart to break something that has—you know— _atmosphere destroying_ properties?> 

<Yes. My dad’s too blind to listen to reason. That’s why I need you there. I need you to destroy the catalyst for me while I distract my father.> Nervousness laces his eyes. <He will hate me for doing this, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t let him release something like this into the world.>

<Let’s say he reveals this watch. What will stop him from calling the cops once I—you know—pull out a gun that was stolen from his collection?> 

<He won’t—believe me. The stuff he has in his study could get him arrested.>

Now that raised a whole lot of other questions—ones Radjerd did not have the stomach to ask.  

<Can I count you in?> 

Radjerd grits his teeth as he inhales sharply. <Fine. You take advantage of my loyalty.>

<I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important.> The blond stresses. <This is a matter of life and death.>

Radjerd stares at the pistol in his hand, the coolness of the object sends a chill up his arm. <I’m blown away by that video. How could your dad not see the repercussions?> 

<He sees it as progress, not as a warning sign. In fact, the video made him even more excited—which is why we need to stop him. I asked my dad to meet him in his study—I said I will listen to his side of the argument. I don’t think he believed me, but he promised his attendance.>

Radjerd rubs his knees, the friction from his grey denim jeans ripen his palms. Fitz starts the engine, pulling out of the parking spot haphazardly. By default, he’s a conscious driver. <Why does it have to be Aleck—of all people…>

<Yeah, I know. That’s what makes this difficult.> Fitz says under his breath. <Maybe you can talk sense into him, you’ve got that charismatic flair he does.> 

A compliment from Fitz. That was rare—he must have been nervous. Fitz wasn’t the only one. 

<Do you think I should pack, or just buy a whole new wardrobe before my dad throws me out? He’s going to see me as a threat.> 

<Let’s see what he has to say. Maybe he’ll listen.> Radjerd says, knowing full well that would not happen. It’d take an intense amount of browbeating to dethrone Aleck Firthe. 

 

The telltale charcoal gate squeaks open as it sensed Fitz’s car, allowing them to drive on the creamy brick driveway. It’s a magnificent property—one that spanned acres. Radjerd’s surprised that they already reached the Firthe Manor. 

The white ivory walls of the manor were in sight. The building proudly stood at four stories, spanning over forty-nine thousand square feet. Water glitters from the two-story tiered fountain, water splashing upon to the flowers that line the circular structure. They pull into the crescent driveway.

Fitz takes three deep breaths. 

<We’ll get through this, Fitz.>

<It’s the only reason I haven’t gone insane you know. Thanks for having my back.> Fitz smiles. Yep, Fitz was definitely nervous if he had the inspiration to spout compliments. The majordomo greets them at the door, making way into the grand foyer. Radjerd’s too distracted to take note of the masterpiece the manor truly is, keeping his focus on Fitz’s tailored leather shoes. The gun has a home in his jacket pocket—he’s worried he’ll be tackled to the ground at any moment. Aleck’s study would be down the hall—where his impending doom lingered.

 

The tapping of Radjerd’s heel continues. 

Books adorned the walls from every corner, and the old antique furniture made it even more daunting. Radjerd was rarely in Aleck Firthe’s study, but the smell of books made it slightly more comfortable. He looks at the stoned expression Fitz, his fingers clenched to the edges of his white dress shirt. 

Radjerd attempts to lighten the mood. <The last time you looked so tense, it was because your lips were so swollen.> He chuckles. <I almost failed my exam.> 

<I didn’t appreciate you laughing at me. It wasn’t funny.> The blond narrows his eyes, scowling at his friend. <You knew I was allergic to bees.>

<How would I know something like that? We only just met!> Radjerd didn’t expect that borrowing an eraser from the introverted Fitzpatrick (with big puffy lips) would catapult the two into a lasting friendship. Radjerd expected to better his life with a bachelor’s degree—not a friend for life. Well, there was more to it than that—but now wasn’t the time or place for such thoughts. He has to stay focused. 

<You know what to do when he shows us the watch.> Fitz looks down at Radjerd’s pocket—where his hand perspires around the handgun. 

<I do.> His heartbeat quickens. Maybe Aleck would listen—maybe Radjerd wouldn’t have to pull out the gun at all!

<What my father doesn’t understand are the consequences to his research. There is no way that the cellular structure of our own reality could hold up—it’s just like the employee warned me about. My father won’t say it, but he’s so obsessed with getting my mother back, that he’s missing the consequences of his actions—> 

The door opens, the Fithe patriarch appearing before their eyes. His hair is almost white—with wisps of grey interluding from the roots. He swears Fitz is the younger version of the man, they look almost identical. In his hands is a silver briefcase, which reminds Radjerd of the action movies he used to watch as a child. 

<Oh, hello lad.> He grins, using the affectionate nickname that Radjerd grew accustomed to. <I see my boy brought you along for show and tell.> 

Fitz says nothing, keeping a cool eye on his father before he gives a side glance to Radjerd. 

The suitcase thuds on the desk as he flips the latches open. Inside is a golden pocket watch, encrusted with a suspicious pulsing blue orb. It looked like an expensive trinket. Aleck leans the watch in Radjerd’s direction. Fitz grumbles and grouches, but Aleck ignores him. He takes the watch out delicately, placing it in his palm. The orb pulses abnormally, Fitz stands up in hesitation. 

<Isn’t it magnificent?> Aleck is so close he can smell the man’s cologne. <Years of effort have finally come to this.> 

<No, not when you’re putting the lives of others at risk. You know what will happen if you activate that watch.> Fitz stands up, eager to rip the watch from his father’s hand. <Dad, give it to me!> Fitz stresses, holding his hand out. So much for distracting him.

<I won't use it now—there’s much I must do before I can travel.> Aleck speaks calmly, his worn face stressing his displeasure. 

<You better not.> Fitz warns, before sitting down. <Return that thing to Willa Corp—it’s dangerous!> 

<I won’t do any such thing. Willa Corp stopped working with me—no thanks to your paranoia, son.> 

<Dad, this isn’t a game. This watch could destroy everything.>  

<We’re on the brink of something miraculous.> Aleck speaks, ignoring his son’s warning. <There’s no sense wasting progress if there is no need.> 

<This isn’t a new venture, dad. This is messing with the fabric of time—of reality. It’s not just a risk for you—this could put many people in danger.> 

< _Fitzpatrick_ , you’re overreacting.> The older man’s cynical laugh implies this isn’t the first time the two had this argument.  

<Dad, hand over the watch, now.> Fitz attempts to grab the watch, but Aleck dodges out of the way. 

<Don’t be rude, you’re wearing down my patience.> 

<I can’t believe how stubborn you’re being. Are you truly that blind?!> The emotion in his voice breaks. <You can’t use the watch. It will destroy this plane of existence.> 

<Now Fitz, there are precautions in place—>

<Radjerd, shoot the watch.> Fitz commands. So much for staying covert. <He can’t be trusted—do it now!> Radjerd’s hand shakes as he points the object at the watch—still in the older man’s grasp. 

<Lad, put the gun away.> Aleck’s eerily calm. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the handgun.

<I’m sorry, but Fitz is right. That watch is dangerous—you can’t use it.> 

<Don’t listen to Fitz—he’s been paranoid from the beginning. He seems to forget that his own mother’s related to the people who created this device.>

<Don’t bring Mom into this. She wouldn’t approve of what you’re doing!> 

<You didn’t know your mother the way I did.> Aleck growls, losing his composure. <Not even you will keep me away from her.> 

Radjerd’s eyes grow in shock—the orb on the watch flashes as if it had a pulse.  But how? <I think there’s something wrong with the watch…> He’s barely able to speak—fear overtaking him as both Aleck and Fitz fall silent. 

<I think it’s activating. Dad, let Radjerd destroy it—If it tries to create a portal, it will spread unless it’s properly contained.> 

Only now do Aleck’s eyes widen in horror.

<Dad, please!>  Fitz pleads. 

Aleck drops it on the floor—but it’s too late. The same horror-inducing cracks he had seen in the video appear before him, spreading quickly. 

<Radjerd, shoot the watch—before it spreads!> Radjerd pulls the trigger, grazing the device with his aim. Dammit, he missed! The cracks spread like broken ice on a lake, ripping through the atmosphere—just like he saw in the video Fitz had shown him. All three men stare dumbfounded at it—the sound was deafening—Radjerd wants to cover his ears, but shock overcomes him. 

The cracks spread faster—fear boiling from within him. If he wasn’t hyped up on adrenaline, he would have been sick. Even if they were to destroy the watch now, it would be too late. 

<This is what your ignorance caused you!> Fitz howls, <Now we’re all going to die!>  

Radjerd looks at it—it was either he took a chance on himself, or cease to exist. He looks at both men, the horror spread across Aleck’s face showed of deep regret and sorrow. Radjerd didn’t hear his final words, Fitz wrapping both arms around him—an unusual, yet understanding gesture from his friend.  

<Radjerd, I’m scared out of my mind.> Fitz yells, but Radjerd can barely hear his voice—the noises around them deafening his ears. 

This was it—the end of the world. 

 

Fogginess surrounds Radjerd, his palms meeting the plush, ornate rug. His fingers grip the carpet as he brings his knees to his chest. Head cloudy, his surroundings resemble the manor’s study—but why was he on the floor? His eyes survey the walls, noting a strange painting of a blonde woman—her expression placid. How didn’t he notice that painting before? It didn’t matter, the thing he wants to know is—why was he on Aleck’s study floor—and where was Fitz? They were supposed to meet Aleck for—Radjerd’s stomach drops at the mention. The fracture—Oh god! He braces the wooden oak desktop—He remembers everything—the fracture, the deafening sound, the pull of his body through wherever he fell from, he can’t see a weak point. What the hell happened to him? Had he jumped back in time? 

Radjerd scrambles to his feet, the handgun merely inches from his fingers. He picks it up, just as a familiar blond man enters the study. Aleck freezes, the wine glass slips from his hand—the shattering partly subdued by the newspaper he dropped from surprise.   

By a miracle, Radjerd received a second chance. He had to grab the device before it was too late. 

He had to stop Aleck Firthe from activating that watch, by any means necessary. 


	2. Chapter 2

Cordelia Firthe hates airports. The loud whirring engines, the bustling of the common folk, and worst of all—the screaming children that plagued the waiting areas. She couldn’t take the noise, and, her driver was late. Her father had thought it best she fly through regular means (something about building character), so he encouraged Cordelia to take commercial flights to her University overseas _. Ah, St. Antilla_. The location was beyond compare—sunny weather, tropical sands, and sweet-smelling flowers. It had been a stifled teenager’s dream come true. Fast forward seven years—she became bilingual in both Weltish and St. Antillan. As for her Business degree, she was halfway there—almost.  
  
If Cordelia‘s lucky, her mother would be too busy to see her. She was the Manager of Operations. With over 40 locations nationwide, Firthe’s Hotels and Suites needed to have someone on top of it all—and that lucky person was her mother dearest. Cordelia has no interest in becoming an office slave—she enjoyed the freedom she had overseas. As the only child of Aleck and Merise Firthe, it’s natural that they wanted her to take over the chain. Thank god her twenty-fifth birthday was last month—finally, she was old enough to collect her company shares.  
  
Cordelia takes her jewel encased phone from the pocket of her tight, white capris. It was dinnertime—maybe that’s why the place is so congested. Arms, legs, and all sorts were bumping into her—how rude. She glances for a notification—ugh. Noralyn still hasn‘t replied.  
  
Oh! She sees a woman weaving through the crowds. Her tall, lanky frame danced behind the clumps of families scattered throughout the baggage claim. She reached Cordelia, doing her best to contain the heavy breaths that followed.

“I’m so sorry, Miss.” She belts out. “I hadn’t recognized your flight came in so early.”

“It’s fine, Sadie. Mistakes happen.” Accustomed to the girl calling her Miss, Cordelia pats the bottom of her bun, ensuring loose strands hadn’t escaped. To her disappointment, they had. She frowns, feeling sorry for the thin-framed Sadie—she doesn‘t like the idea of her muscling the suitcases into the back of the limo. Cordelia would help.

“How was the flight?” The brunette asks with interest.

“Crying babies aside, it wasn’t _terrible_. No matter how many times I go back and forth in these crammed _sardine tins_ they call planes, I can’t get used to it.” She remembers passing on the airplane food—last time she had some, it tasted how she’d imagine sugar laced cardboard to taste. At least she was in business class, so she didn’t have to fight for leg room or a window seat. “Not to mention I’m exhausted. It’s a five-hour flight!”

“You’ve had sardines from a tin?” Sadie raises her hand, scratching the edge of her chin. “I have to say, I can‘t imagine you eating tinned food.”

“What do you take me for, a stuck-up brat?” Cordelia raises a golden brow when she sees Sadie’s clear amusement. She points a finger at the girl. “ _Don’t answer that.”_

The usually meek girl lets out a soft laugh. “I didn’t mean offence—anyway, let’s change the subject. Did you meet anyone cute this year? I remember you mentioning that St. Antillans are unmistakably handsome.”

“Handsome, and beautiful.” Cordelia’s sigh is one of remorse more than fondness. “You want to either look like one or fuck one.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re gorgeous!” Sadie’s brown eyes glint with a mixture of admiration and jealousy.

Cordelia didn’t think so. She had waist length blonde hair she threw up in a messy bun, and steel-blue eyes she inherited from her father. Some say her facial structure resembled her mother, but Cordelia didn’t see the relation—her features were uniquely her own. Her nose wasn’t round, and her lips fuller than her mother’s thin framed mouth. Standing at five-foot-five, she didn’t stand out as either tall or short. She’s perfectly average. Her wealth was the most attractive thing about her—it’s what the tabloids headlined in their last article.

But such came with the Firthe name. They’d only pick on her when A-list celebrities weren’t as interesting.

“Also,” Sadie’s pale face reddens in blotches. “Don’t say the _f-word_ so loud.”

“What, and offend the _too busy to watch where they’re going_ crowd?” She lifts her suitcase away from two pushy passer-buyers. _“I couldn’t imagine a worse fate.”_

“You were safe, right?” Her brown eyes challenge her steel blue ones. Sadie didn’t explain what she meant. It’s the 21st century, for crying out loud. If Cordelia wants to have some casual fun, she shouldn’t be scrutinized for it. Besides, it’s not like she’s known as a Firthe—she’s known for being regular old Cordelia. There’s a great appeal to that thought.

Cordelia mutters through an eye roll. “Don’t lecture me—or I’ll call you Merise Jr.”

“I wasn’t trying to be a pain, it’s just that I know you’re not always the most careful—“ She stops mid-sentence as Cordelia gives her a strict eyebrow raise. Yes, as her driver, Sadie has driven her to _appointments_ in the past, but that wasn’t an everyday occurrence. She wasn’t the careless girl she used to be. “—What I meant to say is.”

“I haven’t wound up pregnant yet, and I highly doubt my second last semester overseas will land me into motherhood.”

Sadie shakes her head. “I didn’t mean to judge—it’s just that as your friend, I worry.”  
  
“Listen, you have nothing to concern yourself over.“ Cordelia’s voice is soft—despite her wanting to wring Sadie’s neck. “You and I will never agree when it comes to these matters.”  Switching the mood, Cordelia notices a light purple suitcase on the conveyor belt—tipped over its side. _Ugh._ She grumbles as she accidentally pushes a man and his daughter to the side to grab her suitcase. Dark scuff lines marred the side—how terrible. She mumbles to herself how much she disliked the careless nature of the airline crew.

“I can take that if you’d like.” Sadie insisted, grabbing the handle from Cordelia’s hand. She didn’t fight the brunette and allowed the interference. Her much heavier suitcase was coming up—matching her smaller purple one. This one at least wasn’t banged up. Cordelia carefully edges herself through the crowd this time and grabs the larger case. The sooner she escaped this nasty airport, the better. She didn’t want to stay in this place any longer.  

“Please tell me we can leave soon.” She says. “I don’t think I can wait another minute being trapped in this ghastly place.”

“Miss, it’s only an airport.” Sadie giggles. “But I would like to wait until the guys are done their _cigarette_ break.” Cordelia’s amused by her driver’s whisper of the word _cigarette_. Her sheltered nature was more endearing than bothersome. The blonde-haired woman wasn’t sure at first if Sadie was a right fit, but she had grown accustomed to the tall girl’s antics. After firing her previous driver and ex-boyfriend Akerley Montgomery, her mother immediately plucked Sadie’s resume from the stack. Sadie was well mannered, traditional, and proper. It came as no surprise when her mother hired Sadie to be her personal driver. Cordelia suspected that her mother hired Sadie hoping her demure behaviour would rub off on her.

“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders stiffen as she walks.”I don’t mean to inconvenience you. But these guys should know better than not to smoke in front of the doorway.”    
  
Cordelia nods, following the brunette away from her gate. She’s thankful that the entrance is near.  
  
“There’s no rush. I know my mother told you to bring me straight home.” Cordelia bites her lower lip. As long as her mother didn’t threaten to pull her from University, she could endure another tongue lashing. Her grades weren‘t what they’d call scholarly.  
  
“Your mother cares about you—which is why she doesn’t want your reputation ruined. You could have killed yourself with that banister stint.” How could Sadie read her mind like that—and when could she stop?

“Look, I drank too much and thought sliding down the banister would be safer than stumbling in my stilettos. I came out with two bruises—besides, I’m positive the only reason that my _mother_ ‘s upset is because the few people who recognized me in St. Antilla saw I was at _The Vixen_ , our fiercest competitor.”

“That video went _viral.”_ Sadie whispers.

“Please, don’t remind me.” Cordelia didn’t need flashbacks to her mother’s heated phone call. The anger in that woman’s voice struck her with fear. The sudden urge to board the next flight out of Glade Bay overwhelms her. “How about you book me a flight to some remote place with no reception—I don’t think I’m ready to face her.” Cordelia's gets a telling twinge her that she needed to worry—she pays attention. Her gut  _never_ lied. 

“Miss, your mother’s been waiting to see you. I’m sure it’s because she missed you over the holidays.”  
  
“I doubt it. _Merise_ misses no one. She’s too absorbed in her work to care.”  
  
“Aren’t you excited to see your father?” Sadie’s obvious subject shift is proof she agrees with what Cordelia said. Now, her father was a face she was looking forward to seeing. The two always got on when she came home for the summer, and she’s excited for history to repeat itself. Cordelia wipes her eyes, careful not to smudge her eyeliner.

“I’m sure you kept my father in good company since I was away.” Cordelia smiles.  
  
“Don‘t say things like that!” Sadie’s pale skin did not hide her embarrassment. Not that Cordelia could talk—her pale complexion would do the same. Even living in an area as warm as St. Antilla, she didn’t tan. She learned quick she had to shield herself from the sun, or she’d end up redder than a tomato. “You make it sound scandalous.”

“It is, especially since he’s taken a liking to you—you’re practically his second daughter.” Cordelia’s laugh makes the driver uncomfortable.

“They’re finished— let's go.” Sadie bee-lines for the revolving door, Cordelia follows behind. She spots the white limo up ahead—Sadie taking Cordelia’s bags and carefully placing them in the trunk. For a slim girl—Sadie could lift a lot of weight. Her suitcases weren‘t light. Cordelia opens the door, sitting in the plush back seat. The interior was a cream colour—classy, even if a little boring.

“You know where to go,” Cordelia instructs as soon as Sadie hops in the front seat. The limo starts, as the two leave the airport, taking them back to Diamond Lake Estates.

“Miss, I was meaning to ask you…” Sadie fiddled with her fingers on the steering wheel. “Am I going to be out of a job once you leave Firthe Manor?”

“You’re my driver. I’m not letting you go.” She could drive herself if she wanted to, but Sadie‘s a fantastic driver—and friend. Cordelia pulls out her phone—her stomach churning in discouragement. Noralyn _still_ hasn't texted her back. She wanted to see her best friend—if she could even call her that anymore. Motherhood hadn‘t boded well for their friendship.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Sadie beams. “I was worried.”

“I’m sure my parents wouldn‘t let you go without notice—and besides—once I get my shares transferred monthly, I can raise your salary. My father said he’d help me figure it out.” Thank God for that. Cordelia doesn‘t know what she’d do if she had to wait another year. She could finally move out of the manor and get a place for herself—preferably in St. Antilla. “Are you open to living in _Honerva?"_  
  
“Isn‘t that place near your school— _in St. Antilla_?” Hesitation lines her words.  
  
“Yeah, but they still speak Weltish in the community—you’ll learn quickly.”   
  
“Miss, I’m not sure what my family would say.”  
  
“Screw them, Sadie. Come on—live for yourself for a change.” Seeing Sadie’s discomfort, Cordelia then replies, “Listen, we’ll talk about logistics later—there’s no rush. Once I get my hands on my shares, no one can say a damn thing to us. We can finally live for ourselves.”

Sadie offers a grin that Cordelia could see through the rearview mirror. Cordelia smiles back.  
  
The passing trees whirled by the windowpane. Cordelia leans her head back, her bun scrunched up against the headrest—she knows her hair is a complete mess—the urge to yawn compels her. Once she arrived home, she’d get a well-deserved sleep. The four-hour time jump would be the worst part of the trip.

 

Diamond Lake Estates was a ten-minute drive from the airport. The telltale buzz of the gate hints at their arrival. The bars part from the golden emblem that had previously bound them together. The long winding driveway passed through the clear-cut grass on both sides. From an architectural standpoint, this land was gorgeous. Considering their property was forty acres wide, they hired gardeners and indoor staff to keep the manor looking pristine and in top condition. Her favourite part of the property was the ocean view; which thankfully, was by her bedroom window. It was one of the many things she would miss when she moved out.

Water glitters from the two-story tiered fountain as the limo pulls into the crescent driveway, splashing upon to the flowers that line the circular structure. Cordelia waits until the limo stops before she opens the door, adjusting her white denim jacket. She slides her shades in place, prepared to embrace the sun. Living in St. Antilla upped her heat resistance.

“Here, I’ll grab one of those.” Cordelia ushers to take the smaller suitcase from Sadie’s hands—thankful that she wore cream coloured flats. She takes the handle and paces up the ivory stairs, the large ornate doors open without effort.  
  
The grand staircase lined both walls, spanning the entire room. Fine embroidered details lace the borders of the stairwell, showcasing the craftsmanship of the manor's construction. The wall’s ornate wallpaper gleamed against the chandelier lights—her home was a masterpiece to behold.  It was customary that all members of the household lined the foyer when an important guest visited their home. She noted that there were new hires, which isn’t entirely surprising. Her mother was finicky. Cordelia glanced over to a woman with a willowy frame that belonged to no other than her mother. Standing beside her is her father, dressed in a tailored grey suit. He was a tall, lean framed man. Small oval glasses sit upon the bridge of his nose. His short blond hair resembles her own as his steel-blue eyes radiate with love. He pulled her into a strong hug, letting out a soft grunt as his grip on her increases.  
  
“I missed you so much, my girl.”  
  
“Dad, you say this every time I come home for the summer.” She rolls her eyes, but her smile remains.  
  
“I know, but that changes nothing—you’re the only daughter I have.” He says, easing off of Cordelia—looking her over before he mentions, “It baffles me how you look almost paler when you return. Are you sure you were at Thermidor?”

“Yes, I’ve been University of Thermidor for the last seven years,” Cordelia says. “You know that. I have to lather my body from head to toe with sunscreen. I swear, I’ll smell like coconut for my entire life.”

“Yes, you do. Anytime I get a whiff of coconut, I’m reminded of you.” His smile is sincere. “How was the airport this time?”

Cordelia crosses her arms in disapproval. “Do you want the truth?”

“Ah, well. It’s good exposure.” He said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’ll toughen you up.”

“Every year, it becomes more and more aggravating. I don’t see why you think I’ll ever get used to commercial flights.” Cordelia still didn’t understand why her father didn’t let her use their private jets, but she supposed it’d be irrelevant soon. She would move out in the next couple of months—she’s not sure how to break the news to her father.  
  
Her father turns to greet Sadie, who addresses him cordially. Wow, Cordelia’s comment really must have gotten to the girl.

Cordelia paces toward her mother. She’s a tall woman, standing at five foot eleven. Her pale green gown sat beautifully on her willowy frame. Cordelia’s positive that in her younger years, her mother had been a model. She had jet black hair in her youth, but it had turned silver in her twenties—bound back in a tight bun. It only stressed her exquisite porcelain features. She was a beauty to behold.

“I’m happy to see you’re safe.” She looks Cordelia up and down. “We‘ll get someone to put your bags upstairs; you and I need to have a little _talk_.”

Cordelia winces. That’s not ominous whatsoever.

“Merise; now isn’t the time. Let’s wait before we tell her.” Her father interjects.

“Aleck, you spoil her. She needs to learn how to be responsible.”

“She’s still young. Let her enjoy her youth.”

“Twenty-five isn’t young. We went over this last night...” Her mother says in a low commanding whisper.

“Mom. Dad. I’m right here.” Cordelia mutters through her rouge coloured lips. “Can we keep the politics out of the foyer, _please?”_

“Freshen up, I’ll be waiting in my study.” Her mother curtly nods before turning towards her study. Cordelia frowns.

“Don’t look so upset. You know your mother and I worry about you.” Her father pats her on the shoulder.

“I'm sure you do. _Her?_ I don’t think so.” Cordelia slouches when she walks toward the stairwell, leaving concern on her father’s face. Fatigue settles into her bones as she takes small steps. The sound of her heels against the checkered tile brings her momentary solace. She stops in her tracks when a certain portrait grabs her attention. The painting was of a round-faced child of seven years with her long blonde hair tied back with a light blue bow, matching the colour of the dress she wore. The painter did an excellent job on her eyes. Strangers would never know she had a tantrum the day they commissioned the painter. Her parents expected that the painter would censor her displeasure. Instead of a sniffling face filled with anger, the portrait portrayed a smiling, well-behaved child. Staring back at herself, Cordelia realizes that she looked like a doll. Her girlhood immortalized—forever.

Her feet carry her towards her gold-rimmed bedroom door. The coolness of the curved brass handle is reminiscent to her. She opens to see a room of girlish proportions—a queen-sized canopy framing a fluffy white bed. Her end tables matched the gold and eggshell frame, complete with a matching vanity near the curtain laced window. Her pale blue walls were free of dust—the staff keeping on top of the dusting. Yolanda—the majordomo was strict as hell—even more so than her own mother. Speaking of, she now realized that the woman wasn’t in the foyer—maybe she was sick.

Sparkles of light dance off the waters, creating a picturesque view of the Oceanfront from her window. She saw snippets of the sandbar below. As a child, she’d use the corner ledge of the wall to escape from her bedroom, spending many nights along the shoreline. Akerley even used this secret route to sneak into her room at night—which, her parents never caught on to. It was easy enough to do, and this side of the house wasn’t quiet—the waves made sure of that. It was truly a shame Akerley had to propose to her—the last thing she wants to do is get married.

Cordelia sat down on the bed. She observes one valet bring in her suitcase, kindly placing it near her door. She smiled at the passing valet before leaning back first onto her plush bed sheets. Her plump lips parted as her eyes lingered on the ceiling. She breathes a deep breath. It hits her—this would be the last summer in her room. It feels bittersweet.

She hears a soft knock on her door.

“Cordelia?” Her mother walks in, uninvited. “Listen, I can’t sit by without talking to you. Come to my study.”

“Sure, I don’t need a moment to rest my eyes—not at all.” Cordelia remarks in a sarcastic tone.

“Please, pretend that you have a morsel of respect for me.” Her mother mutters. “Now, come.”

It was moments like these where Cordelia appreciated St. Antilla; her mother couldn’t scold her from overseas—well at least, _in person_. She couldn’t wait to go back. She follows her mother down the hall to her study, taking a seat once they arrived. She invites Cordelia to sit down in the modern space. She closes her silver-rimmed laptop, her emerald eyes staring right into her daughter’s steel blue ones. It intimidates Cordelia; she promptly sits in the cream coloured chair opposite her desk.

“Cordelia, you’ve spent seven years in your business program,” She begins.

God, _not this again._ This wouldn‘t be the first time they had this conversation…

“Yeah, I’m still trying to figure things out. I was having trouble in one of my classes—the professor is a right tart.” Cordelia crosses her arms, emphasizing her frustration. 

“You’ve been saying that for the last seven years—and despite my intuition, your father reassured me you’re still trying to figure things out. And, I believed him mostly. Yet, when I sent someone out to see what you were up to—Cordelia—I can’t even start with you. You’re flunking your classes, paying others to do your work?! Drinking, and ending up with injuries that not only could ruin your reputation—and that of the company—but you could have _died_!”

“Okay, I know that last year was out of hand, but understand this—I lost my best friend to a man that knocked her up—and I didn‘t have anyone else. I got upset, and yes, I drank a little too much. I don‘t see the problem!”

“She had a baby—and was taking responsibility. Cordelia, you honestly believe you’re the one deserving of pity? I thought her responsible nature would have rubbed off on you, but it seems you’ve reverted to how you were. Do you even have any intention of finishing your degree?”

“Obviously, but I’m still figuring things out.”

Merise sighs, shaking her head in defeat. “Your father and I agreed to freeze your tuition until further notice.”

“So? Once I get my shares deposited into my account, I can go back on my own.”  
  
“No, you can‘t. I took it upon myself to change the contract—you‘re not to get a penny of those shares until you show an ounce of responsibility.”  
  
“What?!” Cordelia’s eyes vibrate in shock—her back stiffens. “Mom, you’re not serious—I need those shares to move out!”

“I am _very_ serious Cordelia. Don’t bother crying to your father. He agrees with me—it’s time for you to grow up.”

Cordelia’s mute—she might as well have had her tongue cut off. She stares at the ground in horror—her freedom was crumbling before her.

“You’ll live here, and starting next week, you will shadow my activities at work. You’re the Heiress to Firthe Hotels and Suites, and it‘s about time you acted like it.”

“That‘s not fair—I was promised those shares as soon as I turned twenty-five. It’s my right!”  
  
“You’re owed nothing.“ Her emerald eyes are icy.  
  
Cordelia stands up, her fingers ball up into fists. “We’ll see about that.”  
  
“I’m serious—your father won‘t budge. He agrees that it‘s time for you to learn the work ethic your father and I need to run this empire. If you can prove that you’ll change, we’ll reinstate your tuition. If your grades go up, we can see about giving _you_ access to your shares.”  
  
Cordelia couldn't believe this… Her life—it’s ruined.

“Then throw me out.” Cordelia turns away. She’s not hearing any more of this. “Anything will be better than this hellhole!”

“Don’t challenge me—because I assure you Cordelia— _you_ _will lose.”_ Merise presses her fingers against her forehead. “I’ve had it up to here with your childish behaviour.”

“But nothing I do is ever good enough for you—it never has been.” She growls. “If you are so upset with me, then why bother bringing me home?!”

“Because I’m worried about you—people who live like you don’t have very long lives. You’re out of control—why can’t you see that?”

“You don't care about my well-being. You’re only concerned with the image of this family—which is ironic—because you’re not even a Firthe by blood.”

“Cordelia!”

Cordelia can’t take this anymore. She slams the door, stomping off to her room. If her mother thought she could force her hand, she had another thing coming. Merise would regret tampering with her shares. 

 

“Sadie, could you ready my car? I’m going out tonight.” Cordelia instructs Sadie when she opens the door. Her row with her mother ended swiftly; she’s been in her room ever since. Hours had passed, but she didn‘t care. She’s too angry to eat.

“Miss, you haven‘t spoken a word since your argument. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I need you to take me downtown. It’s just for some fun—since the bat from hell’s trying to strong-arm me.” Cordelia mutters, fixing her hair into a stylish messy bun. She slips on a black sequined dress in front of Sadie, not noticing the girl’s wide auburn eyes on her physique. She adjusts her strapless bodice, lifting her chest for _scenic_ purposes. She applies her mascara thickly, lining her eyes darker than she normally would. “If this is my final night to raise hell, let it be the wildest night I’ll ever have.”

“I hate that place…” Sadie mutters under her breath. She was referring Hidden Treasures—an upper scale lounge that gave its patrons a different name upon arrival. It was a place advertised as fun and mysterious, but really, it’s where wealthy people could get into trouble. Cordelia was one of their regulars when she came home for summer vacation.

“I don‘t know what your mother said to you, but surely it will resolve itself?”

“She‘s crossed the line.” Cordelia pats her face with powder, getting rid of any blemishes on her skin. “Mark my words, I’ll never forgive her for this. If she messes with my freedom, I’m going to mess with hers.”

Sadie says nothing, choosing to stay clear of Cordelia and Merise’s disagreement. “I’ll ready the vehicle.”

With Sadie out of the room, Cordelia stews in her thoughts. Her mother would be sorry for backing her into a corner. Cordelia slips on her black striped heels, carefully tiptoeing out of her bedroom. Her father would be in his study at this time, catching up on the latest news.

Much to Cordelia’s relief, he wasn’t suspect of her visits to Hidden Treasures. Thank goodness—he would die if he learned what Cordelia did—or would do—to strangers. What she hears next is unsuspected—shattering glass. She hears her father’s grunts, and—oh _god!_ Cordelia takes a sharp breath as she leans against the ivory wall.

She hears her Dad’s high-pitched yelp; whatever it was, she couldn’t leave her father in peril. She’s not a coward.

What she finds inside is disastrous. Newspaper lined the floor, the spilled wine soaking through. Shards of glass littered the entrance. She halts her breath; a man wearing a black leather jacket has her father pinned against his desk—muffling his mouth. Cordelia immediately wants to retreat; both anxiety and fear course through her limbs. She can’t leave her father to fend for himself!

Cordelia carefully grabs a stool near the door, lifting it over her head as she tiptoes toward the enemy. She freezes when she sees the silver handgun in his gripped hand. She drops the stool out of fright—the perpetrator’s violet eyes meeting hers.

_She‘s going to die._


	3. Chapter 3

<You’re not Fitz.>

The man’s eyes hold disappointment, one fist gripped around the fabric of her father’s collar. Her father’s stranded; the perpetrator could shoot at a moment’s notice.

Cordelia’s steel blue eyes radiate in terror. Her nerves spike. She’s scared to move, diverting her gaze to the shiny metal weapon in his hand—one wrong move and she could be fatherless.

<Fitz was here only moments ago—there’s no way he could have disappeared so fast. Where is he?> He commands.

<I don’t know who Fitz is.> Her nerves choke her. <We’ve never heard of him.>

<You have to know, he’s Aleck’s son.>

<No, he’s not. I’m an only child.>

<Aleck doesn’t have a daughter.> He growls, his grip tightening around the cloth—her father coughs—the friction around the man’s neck overwhelms him.  

“Cordelia, _leave!_ ” Her father pleads. He’s too gun shy to make a move. As scared as she may be, she needed to act. Her father’s life depends on it.

<God dammit Aleck, just do as I say and give me the watch. I don’t want to hurt you.>

Her father’s confused; he doesn’t understand Antillan. The perpetrator curls his lips in irritation.

“Give him your watch—that’s what he wants!” Cordelia spits out.  

The man’s brows furrow—violet eyes squinting in annoyance. He turns to Cordelia.

<Why isn’t he talking in Antillan? I know he can understand me!> Cordelia freezes when the dark-haired stranger shakes her father. She eyes his gun carefully, the barrel pointing to the ground. _< Fitz was right about you.> _

<Let him go!>  She hollers.

Her words go in one ear, and out the other. The perpetrator stares at her father, his cool violet eyes examining his face. While he’s distracted, Cordelia could snatch the gun from his hand, and use it against the man. Or, she could scream for help—no—if she tries, he could either shoot her father or her if she tries to escape.

Fear courses through Cordelia as she confronts the tall man. Despite the texture of his jacket, it wasn’t hard to guess that the man’s arms were toned. He could knock her out in seconds. She had to act fast. Cordelia tiptoes closer—reaching for the handle of his gun—success! She swipes the gun from his loose grip—scrambling backwards. _The one night she had to choose to wear these damn heels_. Cordelia keeps her arm straight—she angles the gun between the perpetrator’s eyes.

<Now, unless you want me to call the cops, I suggest you get your ass moving.> Nerves tense and heart pumping, Cordelia stands her ground. She doesn’t notice her father stare at her in both horror and awe. She also doesn’t notice him break away from the perpetrator’s grasp, creeping behind the wooden desk. She hopes he texts for help—and soon.

<I don’t like your tone.> The perpetrator’s voice strikes her with fear. He lunges forward, the arm of his leather jacket sticks to the skin of her neck. He firmly holds her against the wall—her father gasps in terror as Cordelia struggles for air. With finesse, the perpetrator weaves his fingers around the gun she holds, sliding it into his pocket. <If you scratch, kick or punch me—you _will_ regret it.> He’s referring to her hands, as she could move both quite easily. She wasn’t dumb enough to try her luck—he had the gun in his possession. She didn’t.  

His violet eyes briefly travel to the portrait above her head.

<The girl in the frame—that’s you, isn’t it?>

_Duh._

<Aleck never had that picture before…> He whispers under his breath. <It doesn’t make sense.>

<I told you—I’m his _daughter_.> Cordelia snarls.

<…You might be right.>

 _< I am right!> _She hisses.

<And you say Fitz isn’t here.>

<I don’t even know a Fitz.> A true statement.

 _< Fuck.> _The perpetrator loosens his hold, but not enough to escape. He remains silent, examining the woman in his grasp. His warm gaze lingers on her parted lips. Once he lost that menacing look of his—dare she say—he’s handsome. His strong jawline is framed with light stubble—connecting to neatly trimmed sideburns. A style that was more common in St. Antilla, but there was no mistake that’s where he’s from—his caramel skin and jet-black hair are key indicators—but that raises more questions. Why was a St. Antillan native so obsessed with this watch, and, a man named Fitz?

<Look, if you can give me the watch—I’ll leave. But you need to understand, if _Aleck_ activates it, we’re as good as dead. If you’re _really_ his daughter, you’ll understand the consequences of what he’s trying to do.>

<How about a _civilized_ conversation.> She wriggles in his grip.

<I’m sorry—I can’t let you go. You’re my bargaining chip.> His tone relaxes—despite his hold on her remaining the same. Both he and Cordelia know, she’s not going to escape.

A whirl crosses her line of sight—her father ripping the perpetrator away from her, throwing him onto the rug beneath her feet.

 “Dad!” She gasps. By a miracle, her father wrestles the gun out of the perpetrator’s hand, throwing it to the back of the study. How it didn’t go off was miracle number two.

“Grab the gun and get out of here!” With her senses returned, Cordelia rushes for the gun, but her father’s grunt of pain forces her to leap from the ground—oh _god_ , that perpetrator was coming right for her. She throws her shoes off, increasing her mobility. She rushes for the doorway, but the man grabs her by the waist, yanking her back. Her back’s pressed against his chest.

<What don’t you get—we don’t have that flipping watch!> Cordelia panics as he pries the weapon from her hand. She expects him to raise the gun to her forehead, but he doesn’t.

<Listen,> The perpetrator whispers. <I have no intention of hurting you, but I need Aleck to hand over the watch. This is the only way I can save this reality from destruction.>

Cordelia winces. This man’s not only a robber—but he’s also a lunatic!

Her father’s whiter than porcelain. He wants to move but fears what the man might do in response.

“Dad, he’s crazy. He says he’s trying to save our reality from destruction!”

Panicked, her father fumbles for his phone. He takes it out, swiping through the pictures. He shows the man a picture of what looks like a fancy pocket watch—a cloudy blue jewel is in the middle. “This is the watch he’s talking about.”  

His eyes widen in shock. <Tell him he needs to get rid of it—immediately.>  

“He wants you to destroy it.”

“I’ll do one better. I’ll give it to him.” Her father says.

<My dad will give you the watch.>

To her surprise, the perpetrator lets Cordelia go. Her father wraps her in a protective hug. “I’m so sorry, my girl.”  

She glances at the perpetrator, his arms crossed as he looks at the portrait. Right, he wouldn’t be leaving without the watch.

“Are we going to leave him here?”

“Help is on the way—I managed to get a text out when he let me go.”

“I knew you would.” Her father’s arms release her. “What are we going to do with him in the meantime?” He doesn’t answer Cordelia, instead, sending out another text.

“Working on it,” is his reply. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I’ll see if I can get the gun from him—since we’re giving him what he wants, he shouldn’t need it anymore.”

“Cordelia.”

“Dad, it’s fine. He said he wouldn’t hurt me.”

If Cordelia could chalk another act of bravery under her belt, it might add fewer years to her _Firthe Hotels and Suites_ sentence.

<Hand over your gun.> She sticks her hands on her hips, arching forward as she addresses the perpetrator.

He raises a brow. <Why, so you can use it against me?>

<It’s insurance that _you_ won’t use it against _us_.> She squints. 

A smile escapes his lips. <Perhaps, but I want something in exchange.>

<You’re in no position to be bargaining.>

Why does his laugh sound pleasant? Did the perpetrator _forget_ the terror he struck into her and her father? He looks at her hand, his smile grows wider. <I hope you’re not a prude like Fitz—that’d be a waste.> His tender voice speaks as his eyes travel downward.

She ignores his comment, sticking out her hand. <Don’t get comfortable—hand it over.>

<I told you, I want something in exchange.>

Cordelia—despite her better judgement—entertains him. <Fine. What do I have to hand over in exchange for your gun?>

<Your name.>

<That’s it?> He’s St. Antillan—they had a thing with names down south. Even while living there, she never learned why that was.

He smiles, leaning his arm out. In his hand is the gun.

 _Here it goes_. <My name’s Cordelia.>  

<Ah.> His smile’s wide, showing off his white grin. He stretches out his fingers, leaving the gun in his palm. <It’s yours.>

She stares at him while she carefully takes it from his hand, backing up before she had the chance to be swept up by his charms. Lunatic or not, if she met this man in Hidden Treasures—damn. Her gut tremors thinking about it.

The immersion breaks—a team of individuals wearing black flood the room, surrounding the perpetrator immediately. One of the men forces the perpetrator to the floor, handcuffing his wrists together. His violet eyes meet Cordelia’s, his lips remain sealed.

Cordelia can’t help but smile.

_Payback’s a bitch._

“You want him detained?” A woman speaks, addressing her father.  

“Yes. He knows about the watch.”

“Of course. We’ll pry it out of him, and ensure he doesn’t spread any unnecessary gossip.” The woman’s cool hazel eyes linger on Cordelia. “I implore you to encourage your daughter to do the same.”

“I will.”

“You _believe_ that crazy guy?” Cordelia’s stuck on her father’s words. “You said he knew about that watch—hell—you even had pictures of it! What would the Special Forces Unit need to know about some trinket?”

“My dear, they weren’t members of the Special Forces Unit.” He helps her off of the ground. “Who you just saw—they’re from Willa Corp.”

 

“Willa Corp?” Cordelia sits, attempting to bring reason to the table. Only six minutes have passed since the perpetrator was removed from their property—very little time to process what had happened. “I’ve never heard of them—are they like the SF Unit?”

“Not exactly,” Her father sits in the chair, the leather relaxes against his back as he arches forward. “Instead of investigating private crime, they—" He places both hands on his desk, lowering his head in defeat. “—I should have told you when you were younger, but your mother strongly advised against it.”

“Now you _have_ to tell me.” Cordelia grins.

“I suppose I do—especially if it’s not just _him_ that’s pursuing the watch. You need to know—for your own safety. Cordelia—I never thought you’d be threatened by my work.”

“Technically, Mom slapped a prison sentence onto me, so technically your company _is_ threatening—no—invading my life.”

“I’m not talking about FHS.” The anagram he commonly used to describe their family empire. “Willa Corp, they’re a group of passionate researchers who study different realms, realities, _dimensions._ ”

“Oh, so like a hobby-group kind of thing. I get if you need a passion project, I’m sure even you get bored from time to time.”

“You misunderstand—it’s _very_ real.” He clears his throat. “As wayward as it may seem, the young man might have been from another reality, although I can’t be sure.” Her father hands over his phone. “It’s not ready, but we’re getting headway. With this device, we might be able to travel dimension wide. _He_ might be able to aid us.”

“Oh my god.” Cordelia buries her face in her hands, rubbing her forehead. Her father’s off his rocker, just like the perpetrator. “Even if you’re sure this man’s from a different dimension—or whatever—he told me you destroyed his. What makes you think he’ll want to help you.”

Her father frowns, “We don’t know if he will, but he’s our best lead.” Her father’s stern. “It haunts me to believe that I’d do such a thing—it must have been for a very important reason—but what good enough reason is there to destroy any dimension?”

Cordelia can’t help but roll her eyes—all of this was nonsense!

“I would encourage you not to judge.” He uncomfortably clears his throat. “Especially since you—rather—I’m afraid what you might have done with him if I wasn’t in the room.”

“I wanted the gun—I wasn’t going to sleep with him!” She says hotly. “I was trying to protect us.”

“It worries me that you’d resort to flirtation to get what you want—that man had an armed weapon.” He furrows his brows. “Maybe your mother’s right after all.”

“I didn’t flirt with him—he only wanted my name.” Cordelia huffs. “You really need to brush up on your Antillan.”

He raises a blond brow.

“What about your dimension rip thingy?” She didn’t want to remind her father of her current imprisonment.

“Rift, dear. It’s commonly referred to as a rift between dimensions, realities, any word works. But what’s fascinating is that the young man found himself here. I wonder how he did it?” Her father scratches his chin.

Cordelia raises her hand, then lowering it as she loses her words. Her father not only _believes_ the man who had broken into their home, but _backs_ up his claim?

“Dad, I think he knocked your head against the desk a bit too hard. You’re telling me you believe a _psychopath_ —a man who demanded a watch that I’m guessing was the reason he “appeared” in the first place. God, now you even have me delivering _reason_ to this ridiculousness.”

“I understand it all sounds bizarre and otherworldly right now. I promise you once I get clearance from the Executive Manager, I can bring you to Willa Corp myself. Even though you’re my daughter—they have strict rules allowing outsiders in." 

Cordelia crosses her legs, arching her back in speculation. “Is that where “Willa Corp” brought the perpetrator?”

“Yes, they brought him into questioning—and will hold him in their facility until he spills every secret he has.” His steel blue eyes light with glee. “If what he claims is true, this might be a blessing in disguise!”

 _Don’t get your hopes up_ , is what Cordelia pines to say. She doesn’t. Squashing her father’s hobby—project—whatever wasn’t in her best interest. “Dad, just don’t get blindsided next time, alright? I don’t know what I’d do if you died and left me alone with Mom.”

Her father pats her hand. “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

“Miss, I was prevented from coming inside—all of the staff were ordered to leave the manor. I was scared stiff! I’m relieved you’re alright!” Sadie’s piercing concern floods the room. Cordelia leaps from her chair to greet the distressed girl.

“It’s alright—the good guys caught the burglar.” She doesn’t want to trouble Sadie with the details.

Her father cuts in, “I apologize, Sadie. I have protective measures in place—I had to activate the downstairs alarms. If there’s a break-in, I won’t risk your lives.”

Cordelia wasn’t aware there were such alarms—is that what he was doing on his phone? Just another secret he had kept from her—god knows what else he was hiding.

“No, it’s alright Mr. Firthe. I’m relieved the two of you are alright. I didn’t see Mrs. Firthe outside with us.”

“Don’t worry about my wife. After she takes her sleeping pills, she’s out like a light. Nothing will wake her up—poor woman needs it after all the hard effort she puts forth.” He laughs, yet there’s a hidden layer to his amusement. Cordelia rolls her eyes. The _one_ time Cordelia’s life was in danger, and her mother slept through it all. _Classic Merise._

Cordelia’s gloom turns to hope. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to escape her mother’s clutches—all thanks to this _Willa Corp._

She’d use her father’s _hobby_ to her advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to The Undercover Heiress, can you believe we're on the second week already! I can't! 
> 
> If you like this story so far, feel free to bookmark, subscribe or kudos, or do all 3 if you're feeling generous (kidding, of course). In all seriousness, it does help me figure out how i'm doing, and I appreciate everyone who has done any of those actions. It means the world to me. 
> 
> I hope all of you have a fantastic New Year's, and that 2019 can be your year! I know I plan to ride the hell out of 2019 this year. 
> 
> Love you all, 
> 
> Rose


	4. Chapter 4

Radjerd sits on the plush twin sized bed, staring up at the smooth white ceiling. This room is meant to be a temporary holding cell for him—he can’t even tell how much time has gone by since he’s been in here. He was allowed to roam the halls, but he didn’t bother. It’s not like the people here would let him go—damn Aleck made sure of that.

Not only was Aleck lacking in his signature cologne, but he also couldn’t make out a word of Antillan. It’s challenging to comprehend, especially when Radjerd and Aleck had shared quite a few stories about the older man’s past. Aleck proposed to his wife at seventeen; Merise had fallen pregnant. While it should have been a cautionary tale, Aleck told Radjerd that Merise was his best friend—he would have proposed anyway. A baby, however, seemed like the perfect excuse to commit—and prove himself as a lover, and father. It’s one of Radjerd’s favourite Aleck stories. Imagining someone as high-strung as Fitz being brought into the world by two passionate teenagers was ironic and humorous.

Yet, Fitz didn’t exist in this world. In his place was Cordelia Firthe, a perplexing woman in a black strapless dress. She had nerve. She had attitude. _She had curves_. She _had_ to be younger than Fitz. If Cordelia was the same age as the blond, he’d be shocked.

She did not look thirty-two.  

Radjerd watches through the window—outside was a long narrow hallway. A man in a white lab coat walks by—paying no mind to his presence. God, how much _longer_ were they going to keep him trapped? Radjerd had to resort to his imagination to pass the time, which, he’s no stranger to. He spent most of his early twenties behind bars—the cards that life dealt him weren’t so kind. He had talked his way out of many fights. His tall stature didn’t hurt, either. It took two perilous years, plus a rehabilitation program to bring him to the light—and he was grateful for it. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, but all he knew is that he needed the education to get there. The University of Thermidor was a school that focused on Art and the Art of Commerce. He wouldn’t have picked it on his own, but his program had ties to the University—he was part of a pilot program, which meant, his tuition would be covered. He had a single room near the outskirts of campus (no one felt comfortable being situated next to an ex-criminal)—thinking about it—the peace and quiet he experienced for those four years was likely the reason he became so averse to noise pollution. Before, he used to sleep through the noise like a baby, and now—even the slightest sound will wake him up.

His empty plate on the grey metal desk reminds him how tired he was of meat and cheese plates. These damn people kept him fed with finger foods—he should have tried to escape when he had the chance, but violence would cause more trouble than he was already in. If he tried to break out—he might get jail time for his stint at the Firthe Manor. Radjerd groans as he sees a stain on his grey sweatpants. This was _not_ his choice in fashion—far from it. He _hated_ sweatpants. His leather jacket hangs over the end of his bedframe—while his jeans were being washed. He hopes they’ll be delivered tomorrow—it’s hard to understand what’s happening when no one here could communicate with him. At least he could keep himself cleanly shaven—they were _kind enough_ to present him with the amenities he needed. Lucky for him, Willa Corp’s _holding cell_ was a cozy room. At least there were _two_ books written in his language. Judging by the new book smell, they were purchased just for him. Reading helped when his imagination became too much to bear—when thoughts of Aleck, Fitz, and that fracture flooded his thoughts. Had that watch _really_ transferred him to another reality? One where Aleck hadn’t detonated the watch—at least, for now. But, if he made it through, that meant that Fitz had to as well. If Radjerd ended up in Aleck Firthe’s office, where did that leave Fitz?

Did he _die?_

A harrowing thought, it was too much to bear. He’d rather think of prison.

Radjerd grabs the glossy paperback from his end-table. The premise of the book was simple, a man washing up ashore with no memories of who he was, or where he came from. Except, with a twist. He had a locket in his hand—a picture of a woman and two children inside. Maybe, that’s what happened to _his_ father. No, his father didn’t leave by accident—he left his mother, sister and him on _purpose._

He stops mid-page, lowering his book. He can hear muffled voices from outside his room, both female _and_ Weltish. One, an average looking woman with short brown hair wearing a white lab coat, the other woman is tall, her sleek black hair reached down to her waistline. She wasn’t wearing a lab coat. As the taller woman steps forward, her steel blue eyes meet contact with Radjerd’s violet ones. She looks slightly younger than the brunette, but she’s definitely an adult. She briskly turns around, her long dark hair swishing from the motion. She looked Weltish, but hair that dark and luscious usually donned the heads of St. Antillan women.  

Radjerd hears the creak of the door handle, his head turns as it opens.

The brunette woman steps inside. <Good evening.>

Was it? Radjerd didn’t even know how many days he spent in this place. It’s not like he had a window to the outside world. Wait… This woman spoke Antillan. _Thank God!_

<…Evening.> Mild annoyance creeps in.

<I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I don’t live in the area, and I was in the middle of a couple of things. My name’s Phoebe Willa—my mother is in charge, really. I only mitigate when necessary.> She leans out her hand, keeping her distance from Radjerd. It’s fair, he couldn’t hide his displeasure. At least _someone_ could speak Antillan. He didn’t realize how little Antillan was spoken in Glade Bay—if this place was even called Glade Bay… <We’re not in the business of …detaining people. Was your stay alright? Did you get enough to eat? I hope our grounds were comfortable.> If Radjerd wasn’t miffed, he could say that she was easy on the eyes.

<It works. Endured much worse.> He keeps it short, not in the mood to talk. Even if he was relieved to use his voice—he hadn’t heard it in quite some time. He closes his eyes—now wasn’t the time to be hostile. It’s time to use the charm Fitz praised him for. <That is, in my line of work. Forgive me if I seem grouchy, I know you’re just doing your job.>

<I…I have to say, I appreciate that you recognize that. Most wouldn’t be so forgiving in your …position, as it were. I know I wouldn’t have appreciated being locked up in a place where I could barely understand the language. I promise things will get better from here.> The woman’s cute when she smiles, her cheeks rosy as her lips reveal pearly white teeth.

<I appreciate your consideration, Phoebe.> Radjerd relaxes, looking down at her hand, a glimmering band rests on her ring finger. <You’re married?>

<Oh, yes!> She moves her hand towards the fluorescent light. <I thought this ring was too flashy, but my husband insisted it was becoming.> Radjerd can see what she means. Under her white lab coat, she wore a plain black t-shirt and fitted jeans. Her brown eyes reflect the glitter of her gold ring. Maybe he had a thing for married ladies—after all—this wasn’t the first time he came across a cute brunette girl with a ring on her finger.

Phoebe turns serious. <Listen, I won’t waste your time. You’re here under investigation—Mr. Firthe filled us in—you claim to be from a different reality?>

Radjerd stares at her blankly.

<I don’t expect you to be open with me right this minute—I get why you’re mad. I’d be mad too if I were you—locking you up without any real method of communication is cruel, and I’m really, _really_ sorry.>

<Don’t blame yourself.> Radjerd’s finding it hard to stay in character.

Phoebe sits down, crossing her legs as she speaks, <To give you a briefing—we deal with paranormal occurrences—but I won’t bore you with the details. In _Glade Bay_ , we’ve been commissioned by the Firthe Family to investigate branching realities, parallel dimensions, and time travel.> She looks to the woman outside his room, who is sneaking glances at Radjerd. It’s starting to annoy him.

<Doesn’t your friend know it’s rude to stare?> Radjerd cocks a brow.

<Pay her no mind, she’s here to observe.> Phoebe watches carefully—almost giving the young woman a warning look. After, she gives Radjerd her full attention. <We don’t know a lot about dimension travel, but we were hoping you can tell us how you did it. Of course, it won’t be without benefit to you. The more you’re able to tell us, the sooner I can let you go.> This Phoebe woman was expecting a lot more than he could offer. _I did it by accident_ wasn’t exactly helpful. Radjerd knew nothing about how this stuff worked—that was Fitz’s department. If Fitz was here, all of this would have been resolved in seconds. What the hell would he do if he were in Radjerd’s shoes?

<How do you know I’m not faking it?> Radjerd asks out of curiosity.

Phoebe bites her bottom lip; her brown eyes emanate concern. <I’ve done my research on you before coming here. I believe you’re the real deal.>

There’s something about the way she delivers that tidbit that worries him. Did he want to find out what his other self was up to?

<Identity theft is common, and I wanted to rule it out before I started to question you. If it wasn’t for my investigation, I might have doubted Aleck’s story.> The worry in her face throws Radjerd off.

<Do you have a reason _not_ to trust him?> His curiosity piques.  

<No, it’s not that. Aleck can be a little on the _idealistic_ side. He usually makes a big deal over nothing. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that he saw a break-in as a sign of some sort.> Phoebe rolls her eyes.

Now that sounds like the Aleck he knows. Radjerd braces himself.

<Listen… If you can help us get a better understanding of your dimension, I can compensate you handsomely.> 

<Wait, how do you know what I said? Aleck couldn’t understand me. 

Phoebe says simply, <Cordelia told him.>  

Right. That made perfect sense.

At that moment, inspiration overwhelms Radjerd.

Cordelia didn’t believe him when he told her Aleck’s watch destroyed his dimension. She told Aleck despite her disbelief. Either there was a part of her that believed him, or, she wasn’t very smart. If it was the latter—Radjerd has an idea. If he could feed Cordelia incorrect pieces of Intel, there’s no way Aleck could finalize that watch. He already shared what had happened because of the watch, but if he could embellish it—there’s already proof that Aleck listens to her. He could cease production on that watch entirely, and, be released from the clutches of Willa Corp. Once he secured his freedom, he could search for Fitz.

<Alright, I’ll talk. But, on one condition.>

<And that is?> Phoebe leans forward.  

<I want to talk to Aleck’s daughter.> It feels off to say it—but in this reality—it’s true. <I have some questions that need answering, and I think she’s the only one who can help.> It’s a half-truth; the more he knew about Cordelia, the more he could figure out where Fitz might be. He doesn’t understand why yet, but that’s what his gut is telling him. There’s a chance the two are the same person—no—he’s not going to see Cordelia as _Hot Lady Fitz_.

Surprise flashes across Phoebe’s face. <You want to talk to Cordelia?>

<The two of you met?> Which, would make Cordelia a liar if so. She claimed she knew nothing about Willa Corp.

<Cordelia’s never stepped foot into Willa Corp. Not even family members are cleared unless there is a special reason for it—even if she’s related.>

Related to Aleck Firthe, she meant. 

<Uh, just hold on a second. I’ll be right back.>

Phoebe shuffles out of the room—instantly talking to the black-haired girl. Who the heck was she, and _why_ was she staring at him with those doe-like eyes? Was it someone who knows _this_ dimension’s version of himself—or knew? He had no idea what became of this world’s Radjerd …if he even existed.   

Whatever Phoebe told her made the girl leave, and quickly.

<What did you say to her?> Radjerd asks as Phoebe enters the room.

<Never mind that.> She looks at Radjerd with speculation. <What troubles me is Cordelia. What if she doesn’t want to speak with you? Given how the two of you met, it’s understandable.>

<There are questions I have that only she can answer. I feel it’s fair for both parties involved.>

Phoebe sighs, exasperation drapes through her. <It is _if_ Cordelia agrees. But, if Cordelia’s presence will make you talk, I will give her clearance to enter—please no funny business. I’m risking a lot by bringing her here.>

<And why is that?>

Phoebe remains tight lipped.

Radjerd nods, <I figured you weren’t going to tell me.>

<If she does agree to meet with you, remember this. Anything confidential is best said to me. There’s a high possibility that Cordelia will echo everything you say back to her father.>  

What Phoebe doesn’t know—that’s exactly what he’s counting on.


	5. Chapter 5

“My mother has me working like a slave!” Cordelia grumbles, her latte swishes as she moves her wrist. Seven days later, she _finally_ gets a hold of Noralyn—thankfully she had some time to spare. Sure, she brought the baby along, but she’d take whatever she could get. Cordelia needs her friend at her most desperate hour.

The brunette smiles, sipping her teacup leisurely. “Welcome to working life—where you spend the next forty years of your life at someone else’s beck and call.”

“Nor, this is the bat from hell we’re talking about. She’s going to run me into the ground before the first _month_ is up. I don’t think I’ll even make it to forty.”

“Aren’t you being dramatic?” Noralyn says cheekily.

“You don’t know what it’s like to work for her.” Cordelia sighs. “I don’t understand how she still has employees—they all seem to _adore_ her.”

“Hove you considered that she’s a good boss?”

Cordelia glowers. “Not to me.”

“I think you should be open minded. Not to point fingers, but you bad talk your mom a lot.”

“She deserves it,” Cordelia mutters. “The first week I started working for her, she has me running coffee errands like some receptionist. Then, she expects me to write letters for her— _when_ her actual assistant is still in the office!”  

Noralyn barely hides her amusement, “Because that’s what you are!”

“Not for long. If this is how she wants to treat me, I’ll be the most difficult employee she’s ever had.”

“You don’t want to play that game. As you said, you need to prove to your mom that you’re mature enough to inherit your shares. I’d suggest playing up that you can handle what you’re giving, and, ask for more work. That should surprise her.”

“I know you’re right, but why does it have to be so hard?”

“I don’t want to single you out, but most people will never have the amount of wealth your family does—I know I won’t. Even with Otis’s Management position overseas.” A frown stains the brunette’s face. That wasn’t a frown of jealousy, it’s of longing. Cordelia used to rue the day she hooked Otis up with Noralyn—the last thing she expected was for her best friend to get knocked up. It worked out for Noralyn in the end—a handsome, smart businessman who took responsibility for his actions. His only downfall—he’s barely home, leaving poor Noralyn to raise their ten-month-old son alone. “I should be lucky his job pays as well as it does—but I get so tired.”

“You’ve said no before, but I think it’s time for a nanny.”

“Cordelia, my only job is to be his mother. If I had someone else do that—I’d feel guilty.” She stares at her baby, stroking the little strands of hair he has.

“You could go back to school—finish your photography degree. We could be roomies again.”

“It sounds nice, but I can’t. You’ll understand when you’re a mother.” She knew Noralyn would say that.

“I don’t wish that fate onto any kid.” A wry laugh escapes Cordelia’s lips. “I’d be _Merise 2.0.”_

“Doubt it.” Noralyn sips her tea. “You’re kinder than you think.”

“Anyways,” Cordelia interjects, eager to steer the conversation _away_ from motherhood. “You didn’t say anything about my getup. You’re the one who said red was my colour.”

 “I noticed. That ruffled collar is cute on you. Very business chic.”  She nods.

“I needed something to get my mind off my impending doom, so I bought a new wardrobe. I was tempted to buy an orange jumpsuit, but I don’t think _she_ would find it funny.” Cordelia sees Noralyn’s looking straight past her, she turns her head to follow the brunette’s gaze. “What?”

“A Help Wanted sign. It’d be nice to have a part-time job here. I love Twin Waves Café.”

“Then go ahead and apply—we can be _working women_ together.”

“No, I don’t think so. Not until Landon’s older at least. As I said, I need to be his mother first—then I can focus on myself.”

“You’re going to burn yourself out if you think that way,” Cordelia says flatly. “I just don’t get it. Why tire yourself out when I offered to help you.”

“Because I don’t have it as easy as you do—” Noralyn covers her mouth. “Cordelia, I didn’t mean to. I’m just so tired…” Noralyn blinks away her tears. “I…I think I need to feed Landon.” She scoops the baby in her arms and hurries to the restroom.

Cordelia folds her hands above her grey pencil skirt. She doesn’t get why Noralyn can’t accept a little help. She’s so damn busy all the time she’s forgotten how to live—all for some thankless brat who wouldn’t appreciate the work Noralyn’s put into raising him.

 _Vrr._ Cordelia’s black handbag vibrates—she inspects her phone. _Dad?_

“I’m with Noralyn, what’s up?”

“No, nothing wrong. Something came up—which I need to discuss with you. You at Twin Peaks?”

“I am. Why do you need to see me—can’t it wait until I’m home?”

“No, it can’t. It’s to do with Willa Corp.”

 _Not that place again._ If her new position had brought her any peace, it was that it forced her to forget what happened last week. It was clear her father wasn’t going to let her get out of her _service_ , so there wasn’t any point discussing it.

“What about it?”

“Tell you soon. Is the tyke with her?”

“Landon? Yeah, at least he’s quieter this time.”  

“Good. I’ve been itching to see him again. I wonder how big he’s gotten.” Cordelia’s tempted to roll her eyes. Her father’s always had baby fever. If it was up to him, she’d be up to her eyeballs in siblings. “Will be there in ten.”

Cordelia slips the phone into her purse. She debates getting another latte but stops when she catches her reflection in the mirror. Her face was starting to get slightly on the chubby side. _Weren’t you supposed to lose your baby face by twenty-five?_ At least her bun is intact.  

Noralyn appears from the bathroom, her baby in hand. She carefully places Landon in his stroller, sitting carefully across from Cordelia. Faint vibrating is heard from Noralyn’s bag.

“You have a call.”

“It’s just Mellie, I’ll call her later. Probably wants to set up a playdate with her son.”

Right, _Mellie._ Cordelia’s gut churns. There was nothing wrong with the woman, other than she was trying to move in on _her_ best friend. Just because the woman had a son the same age as Landon, _and_ a husband with an overseas job did _not_ mean that Mellie could steal Noralyn away from her. She had hoped Mellie wouldn’t be brought up this time.

“I see.” Cordelia grips the ends of her pencil skirt.

“Mellie’s not going to replace you. No one could.” Noralyn’s too observant. _Dammit._

“I know.” She admits weakly. Noralyn had said that before, but her eyes lit up any time she got a text from Mellie. Meanwhile, Noralyn would leave Cordelia _on read_ most days. Her vision becomes blurry, Cordelia frantically blinks the moisture away.

“I _promise._ ” Noralyn leans her arm towards Cordelia.

“Yeah, just ignore me. I’m feeling down because of work.” Cordelia lies. She didn’t have many friends left—if Noralyn disappeared, that’d be it. Cordelia can’t bear the thought.

“That’s your Dad!” Noralyn gasps. She stands, waving the man over. _He wasn’t supposed to be here now!_ Cordelia sees a man with sunglasses, and a cream polo shirt.

“Prepare yourself, Dad’s going to be all over Landon.”

Noralyn giggles. “That’s okay, he _loves_ the attention.”

Cordelia’s father places the sunshades over his gelled hair, leaning down over the stroller—stress from his face melts away as he lifts the baby from the stroller. Landon giggles, kicking his legs in excitement. Cordelia ignores the babbling noises from her father’s lips. “Noralyn, you should drop by the manor more—I love this little man.”

Shameless, as always. He doesn’t hide his love for children—but—that’s what made him a great father.

“It’s been a while, Mr. Firthe.”  

“Call me Aleck; you and your son are always welcome to drop in.” Her father hands the baby back to Noralyn. “I hate to do this, but I have to talk with Cordelia—sorry to pull her away.”  

“It’s alright. I’ll be packing up soon anyway. I’ll see you later Cordelia, Aleck.” Noralyn nods.

Her father ushers Cordelia from the Café, bringing her to the car. She sees Glen—her father’s driver—in a black limo. The man nods as the two approach.  

“Why’s Glen here? I thought _Willa Corp_ shenanigans were off limits to all?” Oddly enough, neither the staff nor her mother had mentioned last week’s _event_. Although, it shouldn’t be weird that Glen knew—he’s been her father’s driver long before she was born. He told that man _everything_.

“Oh, Glen? He’s known about Willa Corp longer than I have.” Glen steps from the vehicle, opening the back door for both Cordelia and her father. He thanks the driver, as both slide into the back seat. “I was thrown off when I saw your car still in the driveway, but then I remembered that it’s Sadie’s day off.”

“Noralyn picked me up while you were out.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t drive yourself.”

“I get no time with her as is, I’ll take what I can get. But, that’s not what we’re here to discuss.” Cordelia buckles her seatbelt, turning to face her father. “What’s so urgent about Willa Corp? Your watch got stolen or something?”

“No.” Her father doesn’t appreciate her humour.

“What is it?”  

“The man who broke into my office isn’t talking.”

“The Antillan guy?” Cordelia’s eyes widen as her back stiffens. His handsome face meant nothing when she remembers the gun in his hand. Cordelia did her best to force that from memory. “Can anyone even _talk_ to him?”

“One person flew in from Autumnshore Island; she’s bilingual in both Weltish and Antillan. But he won’t say a word to her. Oddly enough, he wants to talk to you—and you alone.”

Cordelia freezes. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. I was against the idea at first, but they assured me he hasn’t shown any kind of aggression—in fact, he’s taken his imprisonment quite well.” He meets his daughter’s stare. “I understand if you don’t want to do it.”

“But _you_ want me to,” Cordelia says simply.

“…I’ll admit, I have my curiosities about where he’s from, but I don’t expect you to do it for free. I’ll pay you—handsomely.”

Cordelia’s eyes flash open with intrigue. This— _THIS was her ticket out!_ But, was she ready to face him again? He gave her a nasty scare—but anything was worth working under her mother’s thumb.

“How much?”

“Enough for you to save up for a down payment.”

Her jaw drops, “Really?”

“This man could show the world that dimension travel _is_ a possibility. If you can help him talk, it could mean our research could finally pay off.”

“Gee—I get it. You’re _really_ into this.” Cordelia grimaces. How did she ignore her dad’s unapologetic enthusiasm for all these years? Better yet—why is he so into dimension travel? “Can you also talk to Mom? I know you won’t talk her out of her decision, but you _could_ convince her to shorten my hours at the office.”

“Done. I have one more condition, however. She can’t know about Willa Corp—understand?”

“What, Mom doesn’t believe your dimensional hobby either?”

“She doesn’t—and would _kill_ me if she knew you were a part of this.”  

“Whatever gets me away from Mom. I’ll do it.”

 

Glen parks the limo in the underground parking lot. Cordelia saw the building’s fluorescent sign—Fundami Entertainment—definitely not _Willa Corp._ Would she believe in all dimension bending realities if Willa Corp had been displayed for all to see? Chances are she wouldn’t. Her father gets out of the vehicle, encouraging Cordelia to follow with a sideways glance. He had prepped her along the way, telling her to be on her best behaviour as if she were a child. _How demeaning!_

Cordelia brushes off her skirt as an excuse to hide her nerves. Now was _not_ the time to get the jitters. There’s nothing beyond these walls that would convince her of dimension travelling capabilities.

 “I know that stance.” Her father’s stern voice grabs her attention. “I told you, keep an open mind.”

“You’re asking a lot.” She mutters.

Her father takes the lead, ignoring her disapproval. She sees an elevator door up ahead—it looks like a custodian’s elevator. “Are we at the right place? The building said _Fundami Entertainment.”_

“It’s Willa Corp’s cover name.”

“Yeah, should have figured.” She rolls her eyes as her father presses the up-arrow. A short ding—the elevator doors open.

A woman with short hair and a headband greets them inside the elevator. Cordelia steps back, caught off guard by the elevator’s resident.

The woman’s brown eyes challenge Cordelia’s as she raises a judgemental brow. “Is this your daughter?” She stares at Cordelia while addressing her father.

“Yes. Cordelia, meet Phoebe Willa.”

Cordelia wryly smiles as she reaches for Phoebe’s hand. At least the woman had a strong handshake. This Phoebe person couldn’t be much older than she was.

“I have to say, I’ve been curious to meet you.” It sounds more like a musing than a pleasantry. “But, rules state that you need a reason to be here. It seems you’re the only person our informant wants to talk to.”

 _Informant?_ More like _misinformant._

“Wonderful.” Cordelia claps her hands together, her lips pressed against her teeth. The lipstick wore off from her visit with Noralyn, and she didn’t have the time to reapply it. Staining her teeth was no concern.

“Before that—Mr. Firthe suggested that you don’t believe in parallel dimensions?”

Mr. Firthe? Unbelievable!

“Can you blame me?” Cordelia shrugs.

“No, I can’t. It _is_ a bit hard to swallow without evidence—which—I can’t give you. But, what I can deliver is the possibility. Follow me.”

The elevator door opens; Cordelia wrinkles her nose. Why does this place smell like hand sanitizer? Cordelia and her father follow Phoebe down the narrow, yet well-lit hallway, passing many doors. It looks like a regular office building. Cordelia expected neon blue lights, and pictures of portals littering the walls. This was quite disappointing.  

Phoebe halts as she turns to the left door, her fingers tapping away on a keypad. Cordelia hears the sound of files flying around—hearing the brunette yell, _“How the hell did you get in here!?”_

Cordelia peeks behind the door, curious to see what’s going on. In the room is a woman surrounded by air born papers. Her purple sleeveless dress is cute—a little belt cinching the girl’s waist. She has good taste.

“I—” The woman stops, her blue eyes widening in fright—averting her gaze immediately. She’d kill for her thick, dark hair.

Phoebe kneels down, assembling the paperwork swiftly. “I told you not to come in here.” She mutters under her breath.  

“Have we met?” Her father observes. “There’s something familiar about you.”

“You haven’t, she’s new.” Phoebe slams the file on the desk—Cordelia glances at the bold red file label.

_Laurius, R._

Laurius? Cordelia doesn’t recognize the surname, but it sounds Antillan.

“I’ll just get out of the way.” The dark-haired woman says meekly before dashing from the room.

“I’m sorry, forgive her. She’s my cousin.” Phoebe laughs, but her face grows serious as she settles down.

“A spritely lass at that.” Her father chuckles. “She wears the same guilty face my _Delia_ used to when she was up to no good.” 

“Dad!” Cordelia elbows her father in the arm. “Never mind him.”

“Now—for the matter at hand.” Phoebe clears her throat to get their attention. “We matched the details we found in the man’s wallet.” Phoebe leans over the desk, shuffling through the messy file. “Now bear with us, Cordelia. This is going to sound like utter nonsense to you.”

At least Phoebe’s honest.

“I wanted to show you this in person.” Phoebe hands a newspaper printout to her father, as he scratches his chin. “We were able to match his identity with someone of the same credentials—but it says here that he died in a shooting six years ago. We sent someone out to the home where he was apparently _cremated_ , and we have proof that he was. It’s mind-boggling to think he could be from a parallel reality.”  

“My God.” Her father stares wide-eyed at the article. “Surely you didn’t tell him about this?”

“Of course not. He’s been so well behaved, I didn’t want to unsettle him.” Phoebe shifts in place. “The only thing I have short from confirmation is a DNA test. I’d rather not scar his mother from further damage.”

“Understandable. Cordelia, you said he thinks I destroyed his dimension with a watch.”

Cordelia nods, but out of obligation. Phoebe’s right—this goes way over her head.

“That would explain why he attacked you—and why he’s here. You told me the watch was what he was looking for—I can assume what we have locked away is the watch he’s referring to. I will give my pictures to you, Cordelia. You don’t have to believe in our work, but please, let us know whatever he says.” She hands Cordelia a blank file, the pictures inside. “I don’t want him to know what we were talking about. Can you keep this to yourself?”

Nerves spiked, Cordelia nods. Why is it _now_ that she feels so nervous?  

“He’s on the fourth floor. Mr. Firthe, I think it’s best you wait in the lobby—you’re a point of contention for him.”

Her father places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay with me waiting downstairs?”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.” She grins with false confidence.

Cordelia and Phoebe leave the office, the brunette guiding her back to the elevator. The quick motion unsettles her stomach. Her palms pulse against the cool air—the doors open to the fourth floor. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears as Phoebe leads her through two sets of doors—where the _perpetrator_ sits. He ignores the outside until she opens the final door—his warm violet eyes are on Cordelia.

She freezes—he refuses to look away.

<I’ll talk to her, but you need to leave.> He grins—almost wickedly.

Fear—it’s all she feels.

“If you need me, I’ll be just around the corner.” Phoebe states. She leaves the two—the silence between them deafening. It’s like she’s in her father’s office, all over again.

His voice purrs, _< Nice to see you again, Cordelia.> _


	6. Chapter 6

Cordelia crosses her arms, the file pressed against her chest. She attempting to center herself—her heart pulses wildly. Her breaths quicken, but it wasn’t noticeable between her barely parted lips. Goosebumps travel up her bare arms—she regrets not wearing a sweater. The perpetrator’s back is upright, his posture relaxed. He wears the same leather jacket he sported before. Scruff lines the edges of his jawline—his smile white as his warm violet eyes settle on hers. His jet-black hair is wilder than she remembers, the ends of his bangs half in curls.  

She breathes in deeply. Her freedom is moments away—cooperation is the only prerequisite. Not even his good looks could put her at ease.

His gaze becomes too much. <Would you stop staring?>

The perpetrator scrunches up his face as he looks to the side. He mutters, <I’m not.>

<You are, and it’s creeping me out.> Cordelia’s mindful of her volume. She doesn’t want to piss him off—sure Phoebe mentioned his behaviour was appropriate, but she didn’t want to take any needless chances.

<I don’t see how I’m creepy. I’m respecting your space.>

<As you should be since you’re on trial.> He wasn’t, but he didn’t have to know that.

<Since when?> 

<Since you broke into my house— _Since_ you held a gun to my father’s head.>

The enjoyment melts from the perpetrator's face. <I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not a trigger-happy guy, but, it’s instinct at this point.>

<Instinct?> Phoebe said he was involved in a shooting—but she also said this man  _died_. It didn’t register that this is the man she was talking about. 

<You learn a thing or two when you’re raised on the streets…>

Was that supposed to make her feel sorry for him?  _Cordelia, focus._

<Even so, you still threatened my father based on some dimension story.> 

<See, now that’s why I’m surprised you showed up. You say I’m lying, yet here you are questioning me. Either deep down, you believe what I’m saying. Or, Aleck’s got you whipped.> He pauses, his smile growing wider. <No, he’s bribing you.>

<He’s not.> She’s lying.

<Why are you here then?> His smile challenges her.

Cordelia swiftly changes the subject. <We should have had you locked up by the authorities—so thank my father for believing your ridiculous tale.>

<What’s stopping you, Cordelia?> He raises his wrists in front of him. <Cuff me yourself.>

She sharply inhales as her gut twinges. He had the  _audacity_  to flirt with her? ‘Course he did. She admits; it helps with the intimidation factor. 

<Put your hands down!>

<Why? I’m nothing but a common criminal.> His grin widens as he lowers his hands. <If you’re going to interrogate me, you’ll have to do better than that.>

He’s taunting her—bastard.

<Fine. Why did you request me?> 

<Because I’m not interested in talking to married women.> He’s referring to Phoebe—right? She’s the only one here who can speak Antillan in this building ...as far as she knows. 

<Who says I’m  _not_  married? Not everyone wears a ring.>

<No one wears a dress like  _that_  without trying to attract attention.> He gently scans her with his gaze. <You’ll be happy to know it worked.> Yeah—thanks to him she didn’t go out that night. Sadie refused to drive her to Hidden Treasures after that. 

Cordelia rolls her eyes. <Cute, but that’s not it. Give me the real answer.> 

He sighs, <Fine. Aleck doesn’t have a daughter in my reality. He has a son named Fitz. I was curious to know what the two of you have in common.>

<Uh huh.> Cordelia crosses her arms. <He’s your friend I take it?>

The perpetrator nods.

<How did you become friends with a Firthe?> Cordelia doesn’t believe him, but it’ll be interesting to hear what he comes up with.

<We met at the University of Thermidor, two years ago. Fitz wanted to get away from Glade Bay—the paparazzi was hounding him and St. Antilla became his safe-haven.> Cordelia could relate—but that didn‘t mean the perpetrator‘s story was true. If the perpetrator attended her school, she’d have noticed a face like his in the crowd. His eyes alone made him distinguishable. 

<What’s your major?> 

<Business—it was one of the few courses offered in the pilot program I’m a part of.> 

<There are no pilot programs in business—I’d know.> 

<I see…> He scratches his chin. <So there’s no such thing here.>

Cordelia groans. <This isn’t helping your case.>

The perpetrator leans back, a grin of satisfaction crosses his face. <I can see you’re nothing like Fitz—he’s got an open mind.>

<Are you kidding? I’m open to plenty of things—that aren’t make believe.> Cordelia can understand the research going on here at Willa Corp—they’re scientists. Their job is to figure out what’s possible, and impossible. But, to travel dimensions—realities? That’s a stretch she can’t cross. <You’re asking me to believe something you can‘t even prove.> 

He stands up, Cordelia cranes her neck to look at him. He looks at her hands.<I want you to that file of yours.>

<It’s only pictures of the watch you’re so obsessed with.> She hands the folder to him, taking a few steps back to keep her distance. He opens it, staring at the image carefully.

<This isn’t it…>

<What do you mean? My dad showed you the pictures on his phone—you said this was the watch.>

< _That_  was, but this one isn’t. It’s the wrong colour—the orb inside this one isn‘t blue. It’s red.>

<Maybe that’s another model?> Cordelia shrugs.

He closes the file, letting out a sigh. <I doubt they’re trying to trick me—especially If Willa Corp let you in. They really must not know what they’re doing…>

<Did you think they were?>

<At first, but…> He closes his eyes. <What did they want you to ask me?>

<Look, they threw me in here to see what you’d tell me. I don’t have a list of questions! So just tell me whatever science words will make them tick, and I’ll leave you alone.>

<You think I’m just going to  _tell_  you?> He chuckles. <What do I get?>

<Your  _freedom_.> Cordelia stresses. She doesn’t know for sure, but she figures Willa Corp can’t hold him up in this room forever.

<Who’s saying they will let me leave? I need something better than an empty promise.> His stare is hot—he doesn’t mean… <I want to see you in that black dress again.>

Her face burns. <What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?> God, is that all she can say? This shouldn’t make her flustered—she should be enraged!

<There's nothing wrong with your clothes—I love the red shirt. But, I’ve always had a thing for tight black dresses. I know it might seem odd for you to wear that dress here, so why don’t we go out for a meal—you ask me anything you want, and I have to tell you the truth. If it goes well, I might tell you  _everything. > _His purr hints that he wants more than food. 

<I don't know what you read in those trashy articles, but it's not that easy to score with me.> 

<I figured—let's say I'm playing my hand.> He leans in, Cordelia refuses to budge. She recognizes he’s harmless now—she knew exactly how to communicate with men like him.

<Are you now?> Cordelia grins. <You think you can take advantage of me?>

<I wasn’t implying—>

<You were—I’m many things, but helpless is  _not_  one of them. If I get you out of this room, it’ll be on my terms—and mine alone.  _Not_  yours.>

<And what terms are those?> He stares at her, inches away from her lips. His smug grin makes her want to both smack, and kiss him. God, what's wrong with her? 

Regardless, she has to keep in mind Phoebe is nearby. <I’ll let you know.> Cordelia steps back, grabbing the file from his hands. <If you’re lucky, you’ll hear from me again.> She closes the door behind her, speed walking down the hall.

 _What the hell was that?_ She wasn't sure what to think—uncomfortable emotions swirled within her. It's like this confusing ball of intimidation and excitement, rolled into one emotion! Cordelia calms down when she sees Phoebe near the exit. 

“Are you alright? You look flushed.” Her brown eyes harden. “Did the informant threaten you?”

“No, but it’s clear he’s not going to talk—unless—he goes on a date with me." 

Phoebe rolls her eyes, throwing her hands in the air. “I shouldn’t have listened to him, he’s just going to string us along until we’ve got nothing left.” Phoebe sighs. “I’m sorry I got you wrapped up in this. It must have been nervewracking.”

“It was at first, but I’ve dealt with much worse than him.” Cordelia assures her.

"I assume you're calling it quits then?" Cordelia's not sure what she should do. If sex wasn't the issue for her ...then what was it? 

"I don't know."

"Listen, we'll give you a loaner. You can call me directly and let me know what you want to do. No pressure either way, I want this to be your decision." Phoebe smiles. "No judgements here." 

"Thanks." Cordelia nods. 

"Your dad will be waiting in the lobby." Cordelia follows Phoebe to the elevator. 

She's not sure what to tell him. 

 

Cordelia sits in the main dining room, her thoughts clouded with the perpetrator’s words. It’d have been so easy if he wasn’t a damn criminal. No matter how good looking he was, he still broke into their house—and he blames it on dimension travel. Even if it was true—how would he have ended up in her father’s office? No, she wasn’t going to dignify that thought.

Cordelia would groan if she weren’t in the presence of her parents. She looks at her mother and father conversing—despite their differences in parenting (and most hobbies), the two shared a love stronger than Cordelia’s ever seen. She should have been the same—learning that lifelong love was possible for her. If her mother could get with someone—anyone could find happiness. Her wealth is more attractive than her charm—and—thanks to the tabloids—any smart person would be wise to stay away from her. It’s why she loved St. Antilla as much as she did—she could be herself. But even so, she never found success. Not like Noralyn did—what was a disastrous mistake turned out to be the lottery for her. Not that Cordelia wanted to end up with her own Landon in exchange for love, but it had to help. The way her parents worked together with the Firthe Hotels and Suites—they were a dream team. If only Cordelia could be so lucky.

She stares at her phone—left on read by Noralyn …again. She frowns, stuffing her phone into her purse.

“Cordelia, no phones at the dinner table. You know better.” Her mother scolds, pointing a fork at her.

“Yeah, I know,” Cordelia mutters, staring at the glazed chicken on her plate. Scalloped potatoes and green beans drizzled in cashew sauce—it’s one of her favourites. Coincidentally, it was her mother’s as well.

 “Cordelia, did you hear me? The Stratfords are planning to drop by. Aiden will be joining them—he’s just finished his master’s degree in Psychology.”

“Wonderful—another man to psychoanalyze me.” Cordelia rolls her eyes—Aleck widening his own. Her father didn’t have to worry—it’s not like her mother would get the reference. She thought her and her father were having an outing downtown—as promised, she said nothing about Willa Corp to the woman.

“Be serious. I’ve always thought he’d be a good match. You don’t have much time until you’re thirty.”

Cordelia raises an amused brow, “What’s this, you’re sighing me up for the marriage market now?”

“No—but you’d be wise in considering it. With your attitude, you’re not going to find anyone appropriate for you—judging how you’re not going to make work of the company—at least learn to marry wealthy.”

“Merise,” Aleck steps in. “Our Delia’s got a point. She doesn’t need to marry.”

“No, I suppose not. But I worry.” She turns back to Cordelia. “Do you really plan on breezing through life with no direction?”

“I said I was  _working_  on it before you took away my tuition.”

Merise sighs, gripping onto her fork. She mutters under her breath. “I understand you’re upset with me, but the University has done nothing but encourage your bad behaviour. I even gave you an easy position to start off with, but you’re not taking that seriously either.”

“Because it’s menial work.”

“You’re not ready for management.” Her mother warns. “No one takes you seriously.”  

“Merise,” Aleck interjects. “Cordelia’s trying her best.”

“How can they when the tabloids pick up on every little thing our daughter does? And  _she’s_ just fueling the fire.”

“Guys, I’m still here—or have you forgotten?”

Merise frowns. “You didn’t check the trending tags, did you?”

Cordelia made a habit to avoid social media—not that it mattered. Others found ways to get her online without her consent. “What did they say about me today?” She takes her mother's cell phone. 

“I swear—if they made a fool out of our daughter again, I’ll make them pound sand.” She barely hears her father as the tag says,  _#spoiledbratfirthe_. Below it, was pictures of Cordelia on her work break through various days of the week, looking disinterested as hell. Not that Cordelia could argue—the job itself was boring—but the comments below…

They’re just mean.  

“I’ll have a meeting with the board on Monday to get behind who’s posting these,” Merise says softly. “I didn’t want to rub it in—but  _this_ is how the outside world sees you.”

“Mom, they always saw me this way. That’s not going to change.”

“I have a solution—how about Cordelia works with me? She’ll still be on the clock, and, away from public scrutiny.” Aleck adds in. “She’ll replace my secretary until all of this blows over.”

“Normally I’d say no—but I think that’s best, for now. I can assume you agree with your father, right Cordelia?”

“I do…” Her father had others act on his behalf because of this whole Willa Corp thing—wait—did he just pull her from Firthe Hotels and Suites to work for Willa Corp? Cordelia stiffens—good god—her dad saved her from hell! That also meant that she owed him one.  

Guess she was going on that  _date_  after all.


	7. Chapter 7

Radjerd groans, rubbing the skin around his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out—sleep is impossible. It's not because of the thunder outside, either. His meeting with Cordelia went less than stellar—his plan slipping through the cracks. Improvising was never his strong suit—which is why he propositioned a date with Cordelia Firthe instead of sticking to the plan. Judging how she rushed her departure, she wasn’t interested in further communication, and it’s easy to see why. He has to remember; she doesn’t believe his story—even if it’s true. In fact, all she probably sees him as is the man who held a gun to Aleck’s head.

A trickle of intrigue swirls in his gut—a shame he’ll never get to taste those full lips of hers. Or, see that little black dress again. He rubs his eyes again.

Now what does he do?

Feeling a pang of thirst, he sits up from his bed, turning on the lamp beside him; a shadow catches his attention. It reveals itself to be a girl—no— _the_ girl he saw earlier. They meet eye contact, he can see that she wants to come in. Against his better judgement, he nods, allowing her to come in. 

<I recognize you from the window.> He speculates. Big doe eyes blink back at him.

<Hi.> She waves, keeping her distance. Her eyes look at him with longing—like they did in the window. It takes a minute to comprehend that she spoke in Antillan. <I’m sorry to startle you—I saw that you were awake.> He sat in the dark before now, so how did she get that impression? Unless, she was spying on him.

<I thought Phoebe was the only Antillan speaker in this place?> He asks curiously.

<Long story.> She replies, lacking enthusiasm. <Speaking of Phoebe, please don’t tell her you saw me here. She’ll be upset.>

<Why?>

<She doesn’t want me involved in the case.>

<Yet you’re here, spying on me.> He smirks as his eyes trail downward. <Not that I mind.>

Her lips curl in disgust. <Please, just don’t.>

<Don’t what?>

<Look at me like that.> She shudders. 

<Alright, alright!> Radjerd's not going to blow it with every cute woman he saw. He straightens his back as he clasps his hands together. <How can I help you on this dark and stormy night?>

The girl sits down, wiping out the creases from her dress. Following a deep breath, she announces, <I need to ask you some questions—about your _experiences. >_

<Ah. Yet you say Phoebe can’t know you’re here—I’m dying to know what has you sneaking around her back.> He arches his chin upward. <I assume I don't need to introduce myself.>

<I know who you are.> She nods, stiffening briefly.

<Well, do I get a name?>

Her voice quickens, <Calista.>

<Fancy name. To what I owe the pleasure, _Calista? > _

Her lips relax—she had been biting them until now. <I know that you’re not from this reality.> She folds her hands together, inhaling deeply. <What is Fitz to you?> 

Radjerd’s taken aback by her peculiar question. Should he answer her? He decides it's not going to hurt. <I’ll give you a freebie. He’s my best friend.> He frowns soon after, reminded that Fitz is still missing.

<Best friend?> She asks, repulsion dripping from her tone.

That’s a reaction he wasn’t expecting.

<Is something wrong?>

<No, I’m just _confused_.> Disappointed is the word he’d use. <Phoebe told me you don’t know where he is, but is that true?>

<Yes, it's true. I wish I knew what happened to him.>

<Do you think he perished?>

Radjerd’s jaw tightens. <I hope not!>

<I see…> She rubs her hand before asking her next question. <Where did you learn to use a gun?>

He sighs, <Do we have to explore my past?>

<We don’t have to, no. But, if I had to _guess_ , you have a criminal record.>

 _< Had. _Now that I’m here, I don’t have much of an identity at all.> 

<Does that mean you know how to hotwire vehicles?> Calista’s eyes light up with intrigue.

He laughs, <No, I was never smart enough to figure that out.> 

<So, what _can_ you do?>

<Not much besides aim and shoot a gun. Oh, and I’m also fast on my legs. Being tall has its advantages, but I don’t have to tell you that.> Radjerd smiles, eying her exposed legs. 

<I’m not _that_ tall.> She pouts.

<It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Tall women are—> He’s cut off by her warning stare. <—Healthy looking.>

_< Mhmm.> _

<Yes, I suppose I shouldn’t piss off every woman I’ve talked to today.> He shakes his head, letting out a pitiful laugh.

<You mean Phoebe, right? She seems relaxed, but don’t get on her bad side. She’s stubborn.> Calista crosses her arms. <She’s not big on messing with the order of things—even if it’s for someone else's own good.>

<No, I meant Cordelia.> The dark-haired girl freezes, much to Radjerd’s confusion. <Not a fan?>  

<I never said that.> Calista squeaks. Radjerd knows that tone, she’s trying to be polite. .

<Don’t worry—I doubt Cordelia will come back. I scared her off.>

 _< Scared her off?> _She echoes.

<To be fair, she thinks I broke into her house. I also threatened her father with a gun as you know. What you don’t know is, I asked her on a date—of sorts. She wasn’t happy with that.>

<I see.> Her face relaxes. <Sounds like you don’t have anything to worry about. From what I know, she’s normally hot-tempered.>

<You know Cordelia?>

<Firthes are a public fascination…> Calista shrugs. <If you want to know more about her, just hop on the wifi and do some research. Cordelia’s pretty transparent.> Radjerd raises a brow. <What? It’s not rude, it’s true!>

<From how you sound, I’d think you have a vendetta against her.>

<She’s not the nicest of individuals, I’ll say that. But if you’re interested in getting to know her, I’d highly encourage you to. Maybe you’re exactly what she needs to take the edge off.>

He laughs, <You’re quite observant, Calista.>

<Yeah, I’ve done a lot of listening growing up—I was never able to get a word in with my mother in the room.> Her laugh is hollow. <But enough about that. From what I know about Cordelia, I suggest you get your hands on some white lilies. They’re her favourite flower—which is a detail many people seem to miss.> 

< _If_ I ever see her again.> He reminds her.

<I’ll bet on my life that you will.>  Calista stands up. <Now, I need to get out of here before Phoebe sees me.> She pauses mid movement. <One more thing. This is going to sound weird, but…>

<But?>

<Don’t trust anyone here. I can’t tell you why yet, but be on your guard. Don’t tell anyone _anything_ about the watch. Not even Cordelia. _> _

<You’re not going to tell me why, are you?> He crosses his arms.

<I know we just met, but I need you to trust me on this.> She clutches her collar. <I’m trying to protect you.>

<Rather kind for someone I just met.> He leans back. <But fine, I won’t open my mouth.> He wasn’t planning to anyway, but he won’t tell Calista that.

<Thank you.> Relief washing over her, Calista takes her leave. Radjerd watches as she hurries down the hall—now he wishes he stopped her. He’s got even more questions than he had before.

 

Radjerd’s stomach growls—it’s been an hour past breakfast and still, they had brought no food. Were they planning to starve him now? He didn’t have much to do besides mull over Calista’s warning—thanks to her, he'll be critical over every single detail. _Thanks a lot._ He took his morning shower, lamenting what the lack of gel did to his hair. It’s becoming too fluffy for his own tastes.

His suspicion doesn’t quell when Phoebe enters his room. He changes his mind when he notices an attendant behind her—with his god damn breakfast—it’s just cereal, but it’s better than nothing. 

<Consider yourself lucky—you’re going on that date you wanted.> Her tone isn’t as friendly as what he’s accustomed to. Or, maybe that’s the paranoia filtering her tone. Wait… did she just say _date?_ Cordelia _agreed?_ <You look shocked—wasn’t that what you were hoping for?>

<I wasn’t expecting it.> He can truthfully say.

<I’m hoping you’re good for this afternoon—we’ve booked a remote place for the two of you to have an _honest_ discussion. You’re fortunate that Cordelia’s up for this, considering how you acted yesterday. You’ll be receiving a company card—it has a considerable spending limit should she want something fancy. Also, please be discreet as possible. We don’t want attention drawn to either of you.>

<You won’t have to worry about that.> Radjerd cracks his knuckles. <If anyone bothers us, I’ll get them off our trail.>

<No you won’t.> Phoebe warns. <We don’t need any investigations tying your identity to Radjerd Laurius. Now, hold out your wrist.> Radjerd sees Phoebe reach into her lab coat pocket, pulling out a smart watch.

<What’s that?>

<It’s a tracker—just to make sure you don’t run off too far.> Phoebe shares.

That doesn’t put his suspicions at bay. <Let me guess, I can’t take it off myself or I’ll be zapped?>

<You won’t be zapped. Now hold your wrist out.> He does as instructed, eying Phoebe carefully as she secures the device around his wrist. The buckle snaps shut as she puts her finger over the screen. <Besides, you won’t be able to take it off—I just sealed it shut with my fingerprint.> She raises a playful brow.

<Ha _ha. > _

<Don’t look so gloom. You’re getting out of here for a couple of hours at least—that’s got to be exciting.>

It was, but… Radjerd can’t take his eyes off of the tracker.

Phoebe sighs heavily as she sticks her hands in her pockets. <Listen, I know Calista was here. She doesn’t agree with the way we run things—but I can’t blame her. It took a while for me to get used to the rules too when I started out.>

<How do you know Calista?>

<She’s family.> Phoebe says dismissively. <With an overactive imagination, I should warn you. Take nothing she says to heart.> Even if Phoebe’s words are true, he’s not going to disregard Calista’s words just yet.

<Is that why you wouldn’t let her talk to me?>

<It’s hard to explain. Just take what she says with a grain of salt if she visits you again, which I’m sure she will.> Again with the secrecy.

<You’re not going to stop her?> He asks.

Phoebe shrugs. <She’s eighteen, it’s not like I have any power over her. If she wants to mess it all up, that’s her prerogative.>

Radjerd bristles. Calista’s  _eighteen?! She didn't look it..._  No wonder she wasn't interested in him—he's eleven years her senior! 

<I’ll be back in a couple of hours to get you.> Phoebe informs him. <If I were you, I’d think about what I’d want to say to her. And remember, this is the last favour you’ll get until we get solid information, so consider what you're going to say wisely.> Phoebe scans him over. <You need anything else?> 

Radjerd smiles. Yes, there is something she can do for him. <Actually, I do. Do you know where I can buy some white lilies?>


	8. Chapter 8

Cordelia leaves the bathroom of the gas station, stuffing her yellow-lace dress into a bag. Instead, she comes out wearing the little black dress she wore the night of the break-in, just as the perpetrator wanted. She let her hair down from her loose bun—she’s shocked her hair didn’t crimp. They were five minutes away from their destination, so Cordelia didn’t have much time to think. Her father had been wary about this _date_ , and rightfully so. He didn’t want to whore his own daughter out for the likes of his research—and to be fair, this dress did make her look promiscuous. She had tried to class it up with a white cardigan—although the deep plunging neckline wasn’t going to help her case. Was this a good idea? It’s probably the worst one she had yet—but she _needed_ that money. The perpetrator doesn’t seem interested in hurting her—if that can bring her comfort. She’s fortunate that she has the loaner phone—she can give Sadie coordinates on where to go. Her father wanted Glen to take her, but Sadie would know something’s up. It’s about time Cordelia told her driver—and friend—what’s going on.

Cordelia opens the car door, throwing the cotton bag into seat over. She hears Sadie’s groans of disapproval.

“Why that dress?”

“Because it’s one of my favourites.”  

Sadie moans. “After the press you had at work, you think going out in a dress like this is the best idea? Especially with some guy that you have told me _nothing_ about.”

“That’s why we’re going out to Mountainview Peak. It’s a dead zone, and for the exclusively wealthy.” According to Phoebe, that is.

“I know it’s none of my business—but what’s going on? You and your father are sneaking about like you’re hiding something—ever since the break-in. And, why are you going on secret dates? I know you—you’re not the dating type. I want to know that you’re alright.”

“I’m okay—really.” Cordelia smiles softly. She’s blessed to have Sadie in her employ. “But it’s about time I told you what’s really going on.”

Sadie inhales sharply.  

“It’s about the break-in.”  

“When I saw those people in black rushed into the manor, I thought something terrible had happened—but your father reassured me that everything was okay—that it was a simple burglary.”

“…It wasn’t. My dad only told you guys that because he didn’t want Mom to know what really happened.”

Silence falls between the two briefly. “Do I want to know?” Sadie whispers.

“It’s going to sound ludicrous, so bear with me. My dad’s working for Willa Corp, an organization that studies dimension travel …or so I know. They’re all pretty shifty about their research.”

“What does that have to do with the break-in?”

“Well—this is the craziest part. The man who broke into my dad’s study says he’s from a different dimension—and my father destroyed his home. He’s adamant about it—to the point where my dad _believes_ him.” Sadie’s wide brown eyes are reflected in the rear-view mirror. “I know, it’s insane. And, this guy only speaks Antillan, so I have to act as a translator—here’s the part you’re not going to like.” She says as Sadie pulls in. “I’m going on a date with him.”

Cordelia jolts forward—the seatbelt stopping her from flying into the back of Sadie’s seat. It’s a good thing she pulled into the parking lot, or Sadie could have caused an accident. “…Oh _my soul.”_ Her tone is menacing. “Not _him._ ”

“You don’t need to slam on the breaks.” Cordelia chokes.

“I’m sorry, Miss. But you’re out of your mind. I’m not letting you risk your life for Mr. Firthe’s fantasy hobby.” So Cordelia’s not the only one who believes this isn’t true. That’s nice at least. “Especially in _that_ dress.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him if that’s what you’re concerned about—kind of hard in a public place.” She rolls her eyes.

“No, the right answer is _I won’t sleep with him at all because he’s a criminal.”_ She mutters, gripping the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles are white.

“I know it’s not ideal—believe me—but my dad promised me something good. If I can deliver on my promise, I can finally leave the manor.”

“I get that you’re miserable, but is _this_ really worth it? What if he threatens you—or worse—strangles you to death?”

“I doubt that’ll happen—and if it does, my father will give you a glowing reference.”

_“Not funny.”_

Cordelia rubs her hands together, attempting to find the right words to appease her driver. “Look, Sadie, I’m going to be fine. You said it yourself, you admire my determination.”

“To throw yourself at a man for your father’s sake—that’s wrong—not to mention that he should know better. I’m disappointed in Mr. Firthe.”

“I’m not throwing myself at him—it’s only for Intel.”

“You’re not proving me wrong.” Sadie unlocks the vehicle, sighing as she gives in. “Just please, be careful.”

“I will.”

Cordelia quickly inspects herself before she gets out. Maybe Sadie was right—he very well might kill her. No, there’s no reason to think that. He’d have nothing to gain by offing Cordelia—it’s that watch he wants. It’s her job to figure out why. She gives Sadie a side glance—it’s not enough. Sadie’s staying put until Cordelia gets back in the vehicle.

Figures.

She eyes the parking lot, seeing a black car pull in. The driver wears sunshades and a black suit. Cordelia doesn’t recognize him. Her heart pulses the minute the perpetrator steps out from the vehicle, his violet eyes upon hers—his lips curve into a suave grin. She smiles back—a trickle of embarrassment seeps through. This wasn’t really her thing—going out with strangers on dates. She’s more of a nightlife person. And, she would be able to do a lot more of that when she gets her down-payment.

_Keep focused._

<Hello.> She crosses her arms, looking down at the smartwatch around his wrist. That’s new.

 _< Cordelia.>_ He purrs. Was he rolling the r’s of her name on purpose? <I’ve been waiting to see you.>  

<Oh.> She says, frowning at the boardwalk.

<Have I offended you?> He asks, genuinely concerned.

<You offended me when you broke into my father’s office.> She rolls her eyes, letting out an annoyed sigh. <But a deal’s a deal. I’ll _try_ to forget about it.>

<Shall I introduce myself?> He speaks, his tone showing he too wants to move on. Cordelia nods, letting him speak. She only knows the Laurius part.

<I’m Radjerd Laurius.> _Radjerd?_ Cordelia scratches her head. She’s sworn she’s heard that name somewhere.  <Why the long face?>

<Because I still don’t trust you.> It’s a half-truth.

Radjerd raises an amused brow, <Yet you’re here…>

<This is a favour to my father. Don’t get the wrong idea.>

<Yet, it’s not your father who forced you to wear the little black dress, was it?> He chuckles.

<It was part of our deal—and besides—it’s one of my favourites.> She sharply turns from him, charging ahead despite not knowing where she was going. Cordelia doesn’t care—and desperately tries to ignore her curious gut. Dates made her uncomfortable—especially dates with perpetrators she found good-looking.

<You walk fast for a girl in heels.> Radjerd comments as he jogs behind her.  

<You don’t walk fast enough.> She replies.

<Here, let me lead.> He says with an outstretched hand—she pushes it back. <I don’t want to force you, but, you’re going the wrong way.> Cordelia didn’t know the area, but she didn’t need him to guide her around. She had reception, a good GPS system and, the loaner phone Phoebe gave her. She pulls it out of her black purse—what? No service?! _For fuck’s sake!_

She groans, putting the phone back in her purse.  

<I figure you’ll like where I’m taking you.> His smile is genuine.

<What gives you that impression?>

<You’re not exactly hard to research.>

<You _researched_ me?!> Cordelia’s face flushes; of course he could—it’s not like her life was exactly _private!_ She could thank the media for that.

<I couldn’t find much to go off of—but then again, you can’t always believe what the press say.>  

<Do I want to know what you found?> Her stomach sinks. She knows it can’t be good.

<You’re hard to get along with—or—from the fact that the pictures of you were never with the same person.>

<That’s because my best friend at the time preferred to stay out of the limelight. I do in fact _have_ friends before you start making assumptions.>

<I don’t doubt that for a second.> He smiles, matching her pace. <Although, I’m intrigued that you spent time in St. Antilla for as long as you did. You ever go to Honerva?>

<Yes—in fact, I wanted to live there before—well, let’s just say plans have changed.> She expects Radjerd to bombard her with questions—he doesn’t.

<Interesting… I used to live there. Great memories, but if you live on the wrong side of town—things can get sticky. It’s good that your plans have changed—you’d have been a target for robbery.>

<Ironic for you to say that.> She wryly laughs.

<It wasn’t a robbery—never mind. We’ll talk over lunch.>

Before long, they reach a well decorated building with a white brick exterior. Fonchette is the name of the place; it’s a desserterie. A desserterie nestled away from the public? _That’s not suspicious at all._

<Who doesn’t like sweet food?> The man laughs, wrapping his hand around the door handle. He holds the door open for Cordelia.  

A quaint, modernly decorated place with white lilies adorning the corners. It’s the first time she saw her favourite flower in a restaurant. A brisk, cool air hits her arms—the air conditioning is cranked to the max—not to mention they seem to be the only customers at the moment. She shivers.  

Radjerd notices her discomfort. <Would you like my jacket?>

<No, keep it. Thanks.> She bristles a bit, not wanting to get too comfortable with his presence.  

A host brings them to a place upstairs, overlooking the oceanfront. It’s beautiful—Cordelia has to admit. If she were to pick a place to dine—this would be it. She sits, placing her hands on her lap. It’s less cold upstairs, but it’s still a bit chilly. She takes Cordelia’s drink-order, a lemon tea with cane sugar. The perpetrator orders Berry Tea. Not the kind of drink she’d expect a man like him to drink.

<How did you find out about this place?>

<Someone at Willa Corp recommended it to me.> He grins. <They were a lot more helpful than what the online search brought up.>

She raises a golden brow. <Well, whoever recommended this place has good taste—we’ll see if the food holds up. She opens the menu, scanning down the items. A couple of sandwiches catch her eye—oh! _A Garlic Butter Sausage Crepe_. She’s surprised to see it served on a desserterie’s menu.

<Impressed?> Radjerd’s staring at her, _again._  

<I have to say—yes.> She closes her menu, deciding a simple _Hot Fudge Sundae_ for dessert. Her dessert taste wasn’t fancy, she can thank her father for that. He always took her to simple dessert places growing up. <What are you getting?>

< _Cashew Glazed Chicken,_ and _Sour Cream Poppyseed Cake_ for the sweet.>  

The host quickly gets the tea, Cordelia impressed by how fast she was. She mentions that since they’re the only two dining with them this afternoon, she’s got nothing to do. Was that Willa Corp’s doing?

Cordelia sips her tea, informing the host the drinks are wonderful. She waits for the woman to leave before speaking. <Now that we’re alone, _speak up._ That was the arrangement.> Cordelia lowers her cup.

<Fine—it’s only fair I keep up to my side of the bargain.> He grins.

<But?>

<The bigger the secret—the bigger the reward.>

<Yeah, I figured.> She leans her arms against the table. <Let’s just cut the crap. How much will you tell me if I sleep with you?>

His mouth drops, eyes wide from her response.

<Don’t play dumb—I know how this works.> Her face is flat.

<I’ll be honest—I wasn’t expecting you to get right to it.>

<Well, that depends. You have to impress me first. Give me something that my dad can use—or thinks he can use—I really don’t care. He thinks you know something, so you better get talking. Let’s start with the watch—why do you want it so bad?>

Radjerd frowns, as if he’s contemplating what he’s about to say. He replies with, <I’d love to know what he has over you.>

<That’s none of your business—and besides—he has nothing over me. It’s simply an exchange of services.>

<Like what we’re going to do?> He raises both brows.

<Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ve told me nothing yet.>

<You’re the one that suggested it, Cordelia.> He leans his chin on his palm, stirring his tea with his free hand.

<Now see, here’s the thing. You arrive in my father’s office, threatening him, _threatening me_ because your dimension will cease to exist. Which, fine…whatever. But now, you seem quite content. Why is that?>

<I’ve been meaning to apologise—this was how I was hoping I could make it up to you. Regarding the watch, as long as your father doesn’t build it, everything will be fine.>  

<Now, that’s not going to work. He wants that thing built.> Cordelia stresses. <And you’re going to help me get there.>

<No—he _can’t_ finish it. Under no circumstances.> Panic fills his eyes. <Cordelia—trust me. I’ve seen it—it’s horrible. God knows if anyone else is _alive. > _

His reaction almost convinces her he’s telling the truth. If she didn’t have half a mind, she would have been convinced.

Cordelia crosses her arms with speculation. <What did it do?>

<It …destroyed everything—or—I’m positive it did. I was whisked away so fast—I don’t know if Aleck or Fitz made it out alive.>

<Pretty considerate for someone who destroyed your world—I’m surprised you don’t want _Aleck_ dead.>

<No—he was like a father to me.> The perpetrator bristles. <I don’t know if I can go home—ever.>

<You really believe all of this, don’t you?>  

<Because it _happened!_ > He slams his fist on the table; Cordelia jumps in alarm—her tea almost spills over the rim of her cup. His eyes widen as he withdraws his arm from the table. <Sorry.>

She doesn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t a trick—he really believes this. If he was insane, was that really his fault?

<Sounds like you had a rough go.> There was no point in being hostile. It wouldn’t get her anywhere.

<I know you don’t believe any of this, and if I hadn’t experienced it for myself—I would be in your shoes. When you saw me that night, it just happened. I went from one world to another—in a blink of an eye. I was confused, upset. But I understand why you’re scared. I regret that’s the first impression you had of me.>

She purses her lips, looking at the marble tile below. <If I didn’t intervene—would you have shot my father?>

<No. I could never kill Aleck—even after everything he did.>

Cordelia takes a deep breath. <Do you know _why_ your Aleck had a watch built?>

He stares at her hesitantly. <Before I ask, who is your mother?>

<Merise.> She replies simply. 

<Ah, so it’s just like Fitz then. Well, he built it for her.>

<Okay, why would my mother want him to build a watch? She doesn’t even know about Willa Corp.>

Radjerd freezes, apparent realization settling in. His mood changes quickly.

<Well, I could tell you—but the price will be high.> It seems more like a distraction than a desire—there’s no way someone can switch modes that quickly. Whatever, she’ll play the game—for now. 

She’s about to speak, but they’re cut off by the host. She brings them their food—both more than happy to dig in.

Cordelia’s _starving._

 

Plates cleared, Cordelia knows what she signed up for. She watches as the perpetrator taps a card onto the machine, effectively paying for their meal. Once the host leaves, he asks, <Want to sit outside? I can see you’re still cold.>

Were her goosebumps _that_ visible? <I’m fine. How about that bench by the lookout?>

<Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.>

<Why—you’re not going to run off are you?>

<No, it’s a surprise. Just bear with me.>

Confused, she watches as he jogs up to the host. She shouldn’t leave him on his own—but—her gut’s telling her that she can.

It never leads her astray.

She walks down the stairwell, waving as she leaves the main doors. Cordelia strolls to the lookoff point bench—she sits, in awe of what she sees. Crashing waves against the tanned coloured rocks; the wind brushes her face. It’s elegant—serene. She closes her eyes, letting in a deep breath. It’s the most relaxed she felt in quite some time.

The weight of the bench shifts; Cordelia opens her eyes, next to her are three white lilies. Their petals are thick as the stems are strong—they’re fresh. It registers that he might have had something to do with the lilies she saw.

<Oh—oh wow.> She stutters.  

<I heard from the grape vine that you like these.>  

<You’re right—they’re my favourite. But—I didn’t think the papers did reports on things like flowers.> She laughs, a soft blush caresses her cheeks. She notices his hair tousling in the breeze—it’s curlier when the wind played with his bangs.

He smiles, leaning in. <I like that your hair’s down. Smells like coconut.>

Her toes curl—he’s so close she can hear his voice in her ear. It tingles—forcing her to shudder.

<It’s just my shampoo.>

<Reminds me of home.> His eyes glaze over for a moment before he blinks. He leans closer,  yet just far enough that Cordelia can correct his behaviour. She doesn’t.

<You haven’t told me anything that warrants a kiss!> She says hotly.

<Then can I kiss you as my date?>

She closes her eyes. <Fine, but don’t think—>

He leans in, his hands glide down her back as his lips suddenly meet hers. A jolt pangs her gut as he steals her breath, his slick tongue dances with her own. Their teeth didn’t bump—not even once. He breaks away, cupping his hands behind her ears.

<How’s that?> He whispers.

She nods, her face red from exhilaration. Her eyes gloss over. <Good.>

<May I do it again?> His goofy grin endears her.

<Fine, but this is your last free pass.> She smiles before he kisses the corner of her mouth—his strong fingers massage their way behind her ears, relaxing her as his warm lips eventually cover hers. Her gut burns with yearning—striking deals with him would be easier than she thought. She climbs onto his lap, letting his hands caress her back. Thank god this bench was sturdy. He purrs against her lips.

<Thought you said this wouldn’t be easy?>

<It’s not—you’re just talented with that tongue of yours.>

<So are you.> He purrs against her cheek. God, he was making this too easy. In this moment, he wouldn’t need to give her any fancy science terms to keep going. She’d keep that to herself. Her fingers line his chest—his torso rock solid. She jolts as his hands do the same, grabbing her rear. Should she feign upset—no—she didn’t want to.

A glint catches through the brush—there’s no way leaves reflected like that—unless.

 _God no._ Her face turns white. It’s one of _them._ She wasn’t supposed to be followed!

<Cordelia?> He says, more cautious than before.

 _< Fucking pap.>_ Cordelia curses as she climbs off of him. She grabs her shoe as she makes her way towards the bushes—the man from behind skitters from his place. He doesn’t put down his camera. She chucks her shoe at him but that doesn’t deter the man.

“If you post one photo I swear!”

“Under what clause?” The cheeky man smiles.

“Fine. How much do you want?” She digs through her purse, getting her phone. “Give me your camera, and I’ll wire it right now.”

He lowers his camera, deliberating briefly before he’s interrupted by the man who grabs his collar, ripping the camera from the smaller man’s hands. Without a second, he throws it on the ground, smashing it with his foot. He whimpers over the broken camera on the ground, scooping it up before he scampers off.

That’s not how she would have handled it—but alright. She won’t complain.

<I was taking care of it.> She adds—Cordelia’s anything but helpless.

<I know, but he wasn’t going to fold. I used to deal with snitches all the time. Used to beat them up too.>

<I can see that. Maybe we should cut it short—just in case there’s more around. If my parents caught wind of this, they’ll kill me.>

<Oh.> His disappointment is evident. <I hope this won’t be our last outing together.>

<It won’t be—after all—you still have information you need to share.>

He wraps an arm around her waist, leaning in for another kiss.

Three kisses is all he gets.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a new record. Rad and Deely not kissing until Chapter 8, yikes. Sorry for the long wait guys! ;D 
> 
> Will Cordelia fall for the perpetrator's charms, or will she talk herself out of a second date? Find out NEXT SUNDAY........on Cordelia Ball Z!


	9. Chapter 9

<Cordelia, I was worried you wouldn’t return!> His warm, violet eyes don’t leave Cordelia’s. She closes the door behind her, her hand resting on the handle. Should she be here? The thought of having his lips upon hers again—is _that_ why she’s here? Judging by the way he eyes her—he knows it too. <Have you come back to finish what we started?>

To say she was changed by a kiss was utter ridiculousness. But, here she was. In his room—two days after their date. If he stirred her up with only kisses, then what else was he capable of? Cordelia would be her own undoing. God, she wanted to kiss him again.  

<I’m here because I did my own research—about what happened to you.>

<You did? Why didn’t you ask Phoebe, I’m sure she would have told you if you asked.>

<I haven’t seen her since. My father said she’s tied up.>

<That would explain why she didn’t drop in.> Radjerd moves over, patting down a spot beside him. <Please, sit.>

Cordelia hesitates, <I don’t know about that.>

<What’s the harm? Phoebe’s not here to scold you.>

<But my _father_ is. If he knows we kissed—>

<Cordelia, just sit.> He instructs. <I won’t bite.>

Cordelia watches him as she sits on the bed, a spring squeaks with the added weight. Her gut swirls in anticipation—no—her imagination’s betraying her. Damn, why did she have to find him hot?  

<What did you find out?> He asks.  

Cordelia replies, <Only if you tell me what happened to my mother.>

<That would imply that you believe me.> 

Cordelia shakes her head. <I don’t believe in dimension travel. But, I want to know what you were going to say at the meal—you changed subjects so fast, it leads me to believe that you didn’t mean to tell me. Why was that?>

<It seemed a moot point—as you said you don’t believe in dimension travel. But I’ll tell you if you really want to know.>

Cordelia nods, <I do.>

He exhales slowly. <Fitz told me his mother—your mother—passed away when he was fifteen.>

Cordelia squints, attempting to understand what she heard. <Passed away—like— _she died? >_

<Yes. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but that’s why Aleck had the watch designed—to go back in time to prevent it.>

Cordelia takes a minute to process what he said. Even if it was a lie, the mere thought of her mother dying—it burdens her heart. She didn’t agree with the woman most times, but she’d never wish harm on her.

Her gut clenches, <How did she die?>

<She was in an accident, Aleck’s driver was the cause. Glen survived, Merise didn’t. He fired Glen soon after—or, the old man resigned from his guilt—I’m not sure.> Damn. Even if this was fabricated, he said it with such conviction that it’s hard not to believe it. <I didn’t want to tell you when we were out. It would have ruined the date.>

In a way, she’s glad he didn’t. But, if he told her then—would she have believed him?

<I’m happy to tell you that here, she’s alive and well. A bit stressed from work, but besides that.> Cordelia doesn’t get into specifics. It seems inappropriate given what Radjerd had said. <Thanks for telling me.>

<No worries.> He smiles gently. <I’m surprised you took it so well.>

<She’s alive and well here, so I have no concerns.> But it did sober her up a bit. Not that she agreed with her mother’s rules, but maybe she could apologise—just so she didn’t feel the guilt she harboured now. If her mother were to die in an accident, there would be a lot of unfinished business. Cordelia couldn’t bear the thought of it. <Truth be told, my mother and I aren’t on the best of terms, but that’s the card we were dealt.>

<Family can be difficult—I’m proof of that. My own father walked out on us when my sister died. Now that I’m older, I get it, but back then…it hurt a lot, you know? I looked up him and my sister. To lose both in one year—it does a lot to a kid.>

<That’s terrible… I’m sorry to hear that.> Cordelia feels foolish for complaining about her mother now.

<I acted out a lot as a kid—teen—and my early twenties. Landed up in jail for a while, but it wasn’t all bad. It forced me to turn my life around. _Thankfully. > _

_Landed up in jail?_ Cordelia’s face whitens. In his early twenties—the Radjerd she read about—didn’t make it that far.

<So tell me. What did the internet tell you—about me, that is?> He says quietly.

There’s no escaping it—she had to tell him. <You were shot six years ago—a robbery gone wrong. You didn’t make it.>

<That explains …a lot actually. Phoebe’s dodgy behaviour, and the demand for my identity to be a secret. Good thing I smashed that guy’s camera huh?> His attempt to deliver humour to the situation covers how he feels; Cordelia knows. She used to do it too.

He catches her off guard when he asks, <Why are you working at Willa Corp if you’re so skeptical about dimension travel?>  

<Because I’m staying out of the public eye—or haven’t you heard—that there’s a running hashtag attached to my name— _#spoiledbratfirthe. > _

He’s amused. <Well, are you a spoiled brat?>

<No.> She scowls at him.

<Really?> Radjerd says, unconvinced. He leans forward, a smirk graces his lips. <Not even a little bit?>

<Are you trying to piss me off?> She frowns deeply.

<No, just seeing what you look like when you’re mad. I got to know these things if we’re to see more of each other.>

<Don’t get the wrong idea.> She says with quickness to her voice. <I believe that _you_ believe you’re from a different dimension, but it doesn’t prove anything. Research is one thing—but I still don’t even know why my father’s getting out of working here—or _why_ he’s keeping it a secret from my mother.>

 _Shit!_ Cordelia covers her mouth—she can’t tell him everything!

<That’s strange…>  

Cordelia narrows her eyes. <You sound surprised…>

<He seems the guy who’d tell his wife everything.> Radjerd shrugs. It sounds like a cover-up. She’ll let it slide— _for now._

<Considering I just found out about Willa Corp the night you broke in, I’m not surprised she doesn’t know.>

<You still believe I broke in?> He says, disappointed.

She rolls her eyes. <Let’s not go there, shall we?>

<You’re right. Since Phoebe’s gone, how about we go out for a bit—I’ve been dying to leave. My sanity is dwindling.>

<No. Don’t need my father on my case.> Cordelia looks at his wrist. <You have that band on you, that should be enough to keep you in check.>

<…If I go outside with this thing, I’ll be tempted to make a run for it. God knows how long they’re going to keep me in here for.>

<So, tell me everything that you know—then you’ll be free.> A good point—why didn’t he? Oh right, because she’s the one who gives him the incentive. _How on earth did she forget that?_

<Alright. How about this—If you can ask your dad why he’s making the watch—I’ll tell you everything I know.> He clears his throat. <And, a second date. Overnight.>

God, how she hates that trickle in her gut.

<An _overnight_ date?>

<You’re the one who suggested it, mind you.> He looks at her as he moves closer. <If that can’t be done, maybe I can get you alone in there.> He jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Cordelia recoils, _< Disgusting.>_

<We’ll figure out the specifics later.> His laugh is smooth as his face relaxes. His eyes linger on her chin. <Damn, every time I look at you—I just want to devour those lips of yours.>

Cordelia attempts to glance at the window, but he turns her head around, pulling her into an intense liplock. A fervent urge washes through her, as she rakes her fingers through his hair. His lips travel to her neck as she lets out a soft gasp— _it tickles!_

<Damn, Cordelia.> He whispers against the corner of her mouth. <Why are you so addicting?>

<It’s only a kiss.> She whispers back.

<If I have you here any longer, it won’t be.> He leans her on her back, as he towers over her. Wait—was this happening—now?

The creek of the door jolts Cordelia out of her daze. Her head whips around to see a wide-eyed girl—no—that wasn’t just _any girl._

It’s Phoebe’s cousin.

 _< I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that—oh god!> _She stammers, her face beet red.

How didn’t she? There’s a window smack in the middle of the wall _that shows everything in this room._

<Calista—long time no see.> Radjerd replies with a hint of annoyance to his tone, easing off of Cordelia. She says nothing, choosing to observe—too embarrassed to speak.

<I’m filling in for Phoebe—she had to take an urgent call.> The redness stains the girl named Calista’s face.

<Are you now? That’s odd.> Radjerd remarks, his brow arched.

<It’s not that strange, she’s Phoebe’s cousin.> Cordelia adds. <I got that right—didn’t I?>

The tall girl nods.

<I should go.> Cordelia stands, brushing her dress as an attempt to compose herself. She sucks in the air between her teeth. <You know, since the day’s almost done, and I’m sure my dad’s looking for me.> Cordelia offers a small wave to both before leaving the room in a hurry, barrelling down the hall. Dammit.

She prays that Radjerd can keep _Phoebe’s cousin_ quiet.  

 

Hair fixed, Cordelia meets her father out in the parking lot. Glen sits in the limo, his eyes on his phone. It’s strange to think about him driving her mother around—she had her own driver. Nebula? She’s new, so it’s hard to remember. Her mother’s drivers had high turnover rates—which didn’t surprise Cordelia in the slightest. Even if she had wavering guilt, her mother was still a pain in the ass to deal with.

“What took you so long? I was wondering if you got swallowed up in a black hole.” Her father laughs.

A dimension joke. _Cute._

“Nah. Left my handbag upstairs, so had to grab it before I left. We should probably go—don’t want to be late for dinner, do we?”

“You’re right, Delia. Your mother will have a fit if we’re late—she thinks we’re at headquarters.”

Cordelia follows her father into the limo. Buckling herself in, she places her bag beside her. She’d pull out her phone, but she’s not interested in being disappointed. Noralyn would have just left her _on read_ again.

“I was surprised that Phoebe had to leave so soon. Hope it wasn’t family related.”

“No, but her _cousin_ is apparently in charge—or at least that’s what I was told.”

“Phoebe tell you that?”

“No, Calista.” Her father’s brows furrow in confusion. “Her cousin?”

“Oh—didn’t know that was her name. Hadn’t seen her since we saw her in the file room. Girl’s as quiet as a mouse.”

“You’re telling me—erm.” Cordelia squeaks. “Actually—there’s something I wanted to ask you. Why are you commissioning a watch?”

 “It’s hard to explain.” He holds his hands together. “Maybe when you’re used to operations, I can tell you. But I promise you, it’d just go right over your head.”

“Would it go over Radjerd’s, do you think? You know, since I’m questioning him.”

“Why—did he say something—is _that where you were?”_

“Don’t look so concerned. It’s my job to pull out answers.”

“No, your job was to study. Not to philander.” His steel blue eyes squint at her in disapproval.

“Dad!” She gasps. “Who do you think I am?”

“You seemed mighty chipper after that date is all I’m saying. I hope you weren’t too careless on that date. The last thing we need is the press on our tail—considering Radjerd’s not supposed to be _alive.”_

“You have nothing to worry about.” Cordelia adjusts her collar. It feels tight around her neck. “Anyways, do you think the Stratfords will be fun? You know how ridiculous Mr. Strat can be.”

“On and on with the game, as he usually does. Can’t he understand that I’m a simple man? I prefer talks of the stock markets, fine wine, and watches made overseas.”

“No, you don’t.” Cordelia gently taps her father’s arm with the back of her hand. “And hey, at least you’re not being set up with him. Like I am with Aiden.”

“Aiden’s a fine chap if you want my opinion. A little meek to take you on though.” He chuckles.

“Excuse me, I think I’m easy to handle.” She laughs back. “And besides, he has a master’s degree.”

“Well, at least the lad’s got devotion.” Her father shrugs. “Shows he can stick to a commitment.”

“Careful, Father. It sounds like you approve.”

“You know my take—I want you to be with someone you’re happy with. And, who can hike. I’ve been dying to go on one, but it’s no fun alone.”

“Take Mr. Strat with you.”

“No thanks.” He looks at Cordelia. “Actually, I was hoping you’d come along.”

“And be eaten alive? No thank you.”

Twenty minutes pass, indicated by the smooth pull-through by Glen. Cordelia sighs loudly before she leaves the limo. Interesting… usually, the Stratfords arrived early. Her father notices too.

 “Strange—I thought the Stratfords would be here.” Aleck observes.

Cordelia shrugs. “Maybe mom cancelled.”

“You know your mother hardly cancels.” Her father laughs. “Only time I remember her cancelling on a social engagement is when you were born—you weren’t supposed to arrive until three days later.”

“She's the only mother whowould schedule a meeting near her due date—” Cordelia stops mid-sentence when she sees her mother whip open the main doors. Her stare strikes the fear of God into her.

“Aleck, Cordelia. Study—now.”

“Merise, we have to get ready before the Stratfords arrive.”

“Dinner is cancelled.” She says sharply. Both Cordelia and her father exchange relieved, yet worried glances at each other.

“To the study—I have some urgent concerns.”

That was _never_ a good sign.

Cordelia and her father enter the study, sitting on the ornate settee as Merise calmly closes the door behind them. She hands Cordelia her cellphone without saying a word.

Confused, Cordelia stares at the screen. Her eyes widen in horror.  

_ROMANTIC MOMENT INTERRUPTED? Get your scoop here. Published twenty minutes ago._

She scrolls down—three photos line the screen—showing both her face and Radjerds—the worst one, where she looks as she’s riding him on the bench.

“NO!” She scrolls down reading the article—how the man was thankful he had his memory card intact after this Radjerd _smashed_ his camera—to defend his _lady love?!_

Cordelia wants to disappear.  

“How much more am I going to see of these before I die?” Merise speaks, her voice wavering with emotion. “Do you not realize this slander hurts me too?”

Her father waves his hand over to Cordelia, asking for the phone. Why she hands it over, she doesn’t know. “It can’t be worse than that video where you fell off the stairwell—” His face is white, as he almost drops the phone.

“These people are making our daughter look like a whore.” Her mother whispers, spitting the final word _whore_ through her teeth. “And it certainly doesn’t help that you philander like one.”

“Merise…” Her father stands up. “Listen, the blame isn’t entirely hers.”

“Oh, so you’re going to say you’re the one who set this up? That’s impossible.” Merise shakes her head feverishly. “You know what—no—you’re _not_ covering up for your daughter anymore. If you can’t even control her—I—I just don’t know what to do. You were supposed to _watch_ her, Aleck. That was the entire _point!”_  

“Mom, it’s no big deal—just a silly date!” Cordelia attempts to calm her down—it backfires.

She throws her hands in the air. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I do, but if I let every single comment hurt me—”

“You know, I’m seeing a trend. Maybe, _just_ maybe they’re onto something.”

“Merise! Listen, she’s not to blame for this one …I put her up to it.” He lowers his head. “I told her to go on this date.

“For god’s sakes stop covering for her Aleck!” Watching her mother swing her arms like that—Cordelia backs up into her seat. She’ll be surprised if she survives tonight.

“I should have told you when it happened—but someone broke into my study. Willa Corp took them into questioning, and Cordelia is the only one who can speak Antillan in the area, so—”

 _“What?”_ Her tone is sharp. “I _specifically_ told you when Cordelia was born—she stays _away_ from that place!”

“That wasn’t the plan—if it weren’t for her, the man could have shot me. Cordelia needed an explanation, and I had to give her one.”

Hold on—her mother _knew_ about Willa Corp this whole time? She would demand to know more, but her mother would probably kill her.

“Enough—I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear you endanger our daughter’s life—wait a minute—is _that_ the man in the picture?!”

Her father nods, closing his eyes. “You have every right to be furious—but shift the blame to me. Cordelia was only doing what I asked of her—minus the kissing of course.” Her father quickly adds in.

“I don’t know what to do with either of you—always sneaking around behind my back. I’m so upset I could—” She covers her hands with her face. “I’m done. I’m so done right now—I can’t even formulate words for how angry I am.”

 “Mom, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You never are!” Her mother sticks a finger in her direction. “I should throw you out.” She turns to her father. “No, the _both_ of you.”

Cordelia’s eyes widen. She doesn’t dare challenge her mother—not now. She may actually follow through.  

“Merise, you know why I can’t let Willa Corp go.”

“I know, but I specifically asked you _not_ to get Cordelia involved!” She spits. “It is the only thing I ever asked you to do—I left that place for a _reason!_ You know what—I’m going out. I can’t stand to see the sight of either of you.” She storms out, leaving both Aleck and Cordelia to exchange ashamed glances.

“Listen, Dad… I promise, we only kissed—”

“Look. Willa Corp is my fault—I’ll take full responsibility for that. But, I specifically asked you to restrain yourself. I thought I was clear.”

“You were, Dad. I only did it to get Intel.”  

“Dammit Cordelia, I didn’t think _that’s_ what you were going to do! I didn’t think you were that shameless. Or, maybe I’m the shameless one for putting you in that position—I don’t know which.” He takes out his secure phone. “I’ll need to do some damage control—get this man an identity, and fast. Or else the press will have another story on their hands.”

“Maybe I can help—”

“You don’t get it—god—your mother was right this whole time…”

Her throat swells. She’s not going to cry.

_Breathe._

“I know I messed up, but I promise, I’m _trying.”_ Cordelia’s voice cracks. “I’m just confused, is all. I still don’t know what I’m doing—and I still don’t understand all this dimension stuff—but I’ll learn. I’ll do better!”

“No, you _won’t.”_ He says firmly. “As far as you’re concerned, you’re _done_ with Willa Corp. When Phoebe returns, we’ll get her to question the perpetrator.”

“He’s not going to talk to her. He said so himself.”

“Because he’s taking advantage! It’s what men do with girls like you—and I won’t have some man use you as his plaything!”

“Girls like _me?”_ Her lip quivers. He may as well have punched her in the gut.

His regretful stare is immediate. “Cordelia. I didn’t mean—”

“No, I think you did.” She turns away, hurrying down the stairs. Sadie catches a glimpse of Cordelia, immediately correcting her path.

“Miss!” She calls out, hurrying after the blonde.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Cordelia stutters out her words. “It’s just an argument like we usually have.”

“Not with your father.” Sadie corrects her. “You two always get along.”

And that’s what made this so hard. Tears overcome her; her vision blurs as she collapses into Sadie’s embrace. She kneels down as Cordelia descends, her knees buckling under the weight of her emotion.

“I’m sorry— _I’m sorry!”_

“You don’t have a thing to be sorry for, Miss. I’m here. It’s okay.”

_But, would it be?_


	10. Chapter 10

<Thanks a lot.> Radjerd crosses his arms, glancing off to the side.

<Look, I wouldn’t have shown up _now_ if I’d have known.> Calista’s cheeks glow. <Trust me.>

<How couldn’t you? Cordelia was—ah, never mind…it’s not worth getting mad about.> Radjerd kicks the floor with his heel, letting out a disgruntled sigh. <I’m sick of being in here—any word on my freedom?>

<Well…> Calista twists her hair around with her finger.

<You don’t know—figures. She’s probably not going to tell you much, considering she knows we talked.>  

<Not exactly, but she did tell me _you_ told her about our chat. Although—she knew it was an inevitability.> She lets out a sigh of her own.

<I just don’t get why talking to me is a big no-no, unless there’s something you’re hiding from me. You said not to tell anyone _anything_ about the watch.>

<It’s—uh—look. Willa Corp is strict on its technologies being used—even in your case.>

Radjerd crosses his arms, <That doesn’t explain why you asked me to keep silent on the watch—or why you asked about Fitz. Do you know something about him—is he here?!>

<Calm down.> Calista ushers him. <I don’t know much about the man—and if he _were_ here, why would I ask if you knew where he was?>

<To mislead me…but you don’t seem the type. You’re probably just as clueless as I am.> He shakes his head <Forgive me, I’m going stir crazy.>

A haunted look crosses her face. <There’s a lot I wish I knew, but, I don’t think that’s possible.>

<Then elaborate. I’ve got nothing but time.>

She grips the skirt of her dress. <Willa Corp isn’t going to let you out—at least until they discover more about you. If you want freedom, I can give it to you—but you have to do exactly as I say.>

<How are you going to do that?> He waves his wrist in the air. <I still have this on—I really don’t want to know what it does if I go out of bounds.>

<I’ll get it off you, but not now. We can’t raise suspicion.> She briefly turns away. <I feel terrible going behind her back like this—Phoebe’s been nothing but kind to me. But to ignore my plea—it’s wrong.> He hears what she says, but barely. It’s not meant for his ears.

<What’s Phoebe done?>  

<It’s what she’s _not_ doing.> Calista stares at the floor.  

<I don’t understand…you have to tell me _something. > _

<You and Cordelia are plastered across the news. She’s likely going to find out when she gets home—and decide to keep you in the facility. I doubt you’ll see the outside world again.>

His stomach sinks. _Fuck._

<Which is _why_ I’m going to help you escape.> She turns to the door. <Past midnight, expect me to knock.>

<You’re not leaving without telling me _where_ we’re going. You seem like a good kid, but I can’t leave my fate to someone I hardly know.> Radjerd watches the black-haired girl’s mouth purse—it’s brief, but he notices. <I appreciate that you’re on my side, but I need to know. Where are we going?>

<I’m taking you to Aleck Firthe.>

His mouth gapes open. <You’re kidding!> That man is the reason he’s locked away in the first place. Who says he won’t do it again? He didn’t even need to mention that his daughter _still_ thought he broke into the manor, or that he couldn’t speak Weltish. Calista’s cool stare challenges his incredulous response.

<Do you believe I’d lead you into danger? I’m risking a lot by doing this, you know.>

<No, I don’t know. You’ve been tight-lipped.>

<I’ll explain when we’re in the Firthe Manor. Trust me, Aleck _will_ listen.>

<What do you have on him?>

<Nothing.>

<Then what has you so confident?>

<I’m family—well—sort of.> Right, if she’s Phoebe’s cousin, she’s distantly related to the Firthes, but that didn’t mean much. She still wasn’t a direct relation. <It doesn’t matter, I have something that’ll get him to help us out. He _will_ keep you at the manor. I’ll make sure of it.>

<If you manage to convince Aleck, will you help me talk to him? Maybe with your help, I can convince him not to build the watch.> Calista was family—even if there was a distant connection—Aleck might be able to hear his concerns better from her lips instead of his.

Calista nods.

<Alright, I’m on board. But, you _do_ know that you need permission to get into Diamond Lake Estates?> A ritzy neighbourhood needed security. It’d be a thief’s treasure trove.  

< _I know that. > _She scolds him. <Just leave the plan to me, I know what I’m doing.>

<So you have the car running out front?>

<Seriously, this is the thanks I get?> She grumbles, <Listen, now that you know what’s going down, just get yourself ready. We don’t know what to expect.>

While Radjerd’s grateful for her help, Phoebe’s words didn’t leave his mind. _She has an overactive imagination._ God, he hoped that was an exaggeration.

He breathes a sigh of relief, <I won’t lie, I’m excited to get out of this hellhole.>

<Bet you are—Cordelia’s going to be happy to see you.> Calista smirks.

<Hey!> Was she teasing him? But, Calista reminds him that Cordelia _will_ be there. Let’s hope she doesn’t think he’s back for a second break-in.

 <Be ready. I’ll be back for two am.>

Now, that puts a smile on his face.

***

 

The room is cold, dusty.

His head spins.

He can barely breathe.

Shudders erupt through his body, he grips his stained white collar. Shooting up from the mattress he lies on, he gasps, his lungs attempting to store whatever air may be left. Slow breaths follow after, his fingers now gripping the sheet of the mattress.

_Where was he?_

His thoughts come back to him, compartmentalized. It’s the only way he can keep the bile down. No, he doesn’t _want_ to remember. His father—dead. Everyone else? _It would only be a matter of time._

His wrist shakes as he whispers quietly, “He’s gone.” The _he_ wasn’t specific, he’s lost both his father and best friend. It’s a heavy burden to bear.

The world stopped spinning, but he doesn’t care. Grief comes out in full force, as he slams his fist against the wall. His breathing is laboured.

_Damn it, why?!_

His head shoots up as he sees the metal door turn. He wipes away all signs of emotion; a strong composure will always be second nature to him.

Staring at him was a woman a little on the pouchy side, short brown hair with bangs held back by a black headband.

“You’re lucky one of my employees found you.” She says with uncertainty. “If anyone else did, it’d be hard to explain to the media.”

He takes a look around the room—walls with no windows surround him. Just a light bulb overhead. He runs a hand through his unkempt blond locks.

“I know you’re in rough shape, but if you don’t mind, can you tell me where you came from?”

He attempts to speak, but nothing comes out. His mouth gapes, a cough replacing his words.

“Judging by your outfit, you’ve had quite a trip.”

“I.” He tries to speak, but his mind’s swirling with images he wishes he could forget. His hand trembles upon his leg, the lost look in his eyes returns.  

“You had a watch in your possession. I have it here—maybe this will strike your memory.” She unveils the golden contraption, the blue orb within it now lifeless.

Pressing his hand to his forehead, the man groans. A sharp pain interrupts the man from formulating words. “I’m going to assume it is.” She writes down in a notebook. “If that’s the case…can I safely assume you travelled with it?”  

Did he? God, he can’t remember a bloody thing!

“I’ll get you a drink.”  

“I-I-I’m fine.” He’s frustrated. This isn’t how he normally handles things. He can do better than this.

“I don’t mean to prod you, but I do need to understand where you came from.”

He raises his hand, but it falls soon after. He twitches his head, the best way he can communicate. A stuttered pair of words soon follow.  

“Alright, just hold on—I’ll get something to calm you down.” She leaves the room, leaving the man with his thoughts.

_How can he speak of something he barely understands himself?_

He doesn’t wait long until someone opens the door—except, it isn’t Phoebe. It’s the sound of someone’s sharp gasp—a woman’s if he were to identify it. Normally, he’d scold them for being nosey, but his head isn’t right—given what he’s been through—he can’t blame himself.

The second time it opens, the brown-haired returns with a glass of water and two blue pills.

“I know this is unorthodox, and I understand if you don’t trust a strange lady handing you brightly coloured drugs, but these should help.” She hands the man both items. “Extra fortified nerve-calming pills—not to be released to the public.” His hand shakes as he swallows them, gulping the water soon after.  

Within a minute, his shakes stop.

“Th-thank you.” He manages to spit out.

“You’re welcome.” Her grin is small. “Before we begin, I should introduce myself. I’m Phoebe Willa.”

“He said to talk to you.” The man calmly says. “The man named Willis.”

Her brows raise, as her mouth forms an O shape. “You know Willis?”  

“Yes.” He speaks softly. “He helped me escape _them.”_  

“What do you mean, _them?!”_ Phoebe’s unnerved.

“The group that helped my father—the bastards responsible for his death. I still don’t know why they did it…” He coughs, gripping the sheets. The memory cuts through him; a sob escapes his throat.

The woman leans towards him, placing an empathetic hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, take your time. We’re in no rush.”

“I can’t remember it all—my mind’s fragmented.”

“It’s safe to say that you’re from the same place as Radjerd then. You wouldn’t be Fitz by any chance.”

The man blinks. “You know Radjerd? Is he here?!” He scampers up but quickly loses his balance.

“They might be miracle pills, but they can’t fix _everything.”_ She calms him down. “Radjerd is here, six floors above us to be exact. You’re in the basement of Willa Corp. Sorry to put you here, but we had to be sure who you were, and, we had to make sure you weren’t dangerous.”

“Can I see him, _please?”_ Fitz pleas.

“Of course you can, but give yourself a half an hour to let the drugs work their magic. I promise you, he’s not going anywhere.”

Fitz didn’t know her, but he had no choice but to trust her…did she say her name was _Phoebe Willa?_ He didn’t recall hearing that name before.

“When did Radjerd show up?”

“A week and a half ago, at least,” Phoebe says quietly. “He’s been living here since.”

“I see…” He falls silent. All this time he thought Radjerd died when the fracture swallowed him. Right…it’s coming back to him. That’s when his father—his father— _No._ He’s not ready for that memory.

“He’ll be thrilled to see you.” Phoebe laughs.

“Likewise.” He nods slowly, his mind slightly foggy.

Phoebe pulls up a chair, the scraping noise causes his shoulders to tense. “ _Sorry._ If you don’t mind, can I ask you for your full name?”

It _should_ be okay to tell her. “ Yeah, sure. Fitzpatrick Cornelius Firthe.”

“Ah, so Aleck’s son _does_ exist.” Which meant he didn’t exist here, wherever _here_ was. “That’s been something we struggled with. Radjerd assured us that you were real.” She cocks her head to get a better look at him. “You look an awful lot like Aleck Firthe.”

“…So I’ve heard.” Fitz gulps down his water. “Can you get me another drink? I’m parched.”

“Of course, the kitchen isn’t far. Be right back.” She signals off.

Fitz watches as she closes the door; he decides to test his strength. He stands, keeping his balance as he reaches for the handle. It’s unlocked—good. Fitz closes the door behind him. Taking his best guess, he chooses left. The elevators were on the left side of the building from what he can remember. He’s right, as the blond approaches one. He presses the button quickly.

_Rad’s only six floors above him._

 

***

Long, black hair.

Doe eyes.

Pursed, unimpressed lips.

Radjerd groans—shit, had he fallen asleep? It _has_ been the most relaxed he’s felt since he arrived. He doesn’t get much time to wonder, as Calista pulls at his arm. <Change of plans, we need to go—now.>

He takes a quick glance at the wristband. <What do you mean—it’s only what—11pm?>

<We can’t wait. You want to leave, or not?>

<Okay, just hold on. Get this thing off of me first.>

As instructed, Calista pops the watch off with her fingerprint. He’ll appreciate the easy disposal mechanism later. He grabs his jacket, slipping on his shoes—he had to leave the rest behind. He’ll finish that book eventually.

<What’s happening?>

<Look, I’ll tell you later. We need to exit through the fire-escape. The elevators are off-limits, they lead to all the main hubs.> She points right, leading Radjerd to the exit. Good timing; he hears the ding of the elevator as they shut the door. Calista ushers him to follow as she hurries down the cement stairwell, a black backpack half-zipped upon Calista’s back. He notices two files within it. He can barely make out the letters— _Firthe, A_ —which had to be related to Aleck. The other, _Firthe, C_. So, Cordelia?  

She shakes each door—it won’t open! <Come on, the next one should work.> She says to him, running to floor 2. She shakes the handle—also locked.

Calista kicks the door, biting her lip when the impact’s greater than she expects.

<You didn’t lock us in here, did you?>

 _< Fuck, I hope not.>_ She speeds down the final flight of stairs—a narrow glass window showcases the outside—streetlamps lighting the streets ahead. Yet, on the door, a red sign displayed; _Door Armed, Alarm Will Sound If Opened._

Calista slips off her shoes as she asks, <How fast can you run?>

<I’ll be fine.> Radjerd confirms. Calista leans forward, pushing open the door. The alarm pierces through their ears. He prays that she knows how to get a vehicle. He can’t take the time to appreciate the fresh air—they had to find some kind of cab, and fast. He hopes she has money in that backpack of hers.

<Look, I can carry you on my back if that helps. Running in bare feet isn’t smart.>

<I’m too heavy.> She frowns.

<Look, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve carried someone while escaping.>  

<No, we don’t have time!> She speeds ahead of him. <Follow me!>

Like he has a choice. Radjerd follows Calista along the grassy patch to a terminal up ahead. Was she planning to take the bus?! That wouldn’t work!

<We need another way—a bus won’t take us to Diamond Lake Estates!>

<I know that, but a cab will—they park around the side here. I’ve taken them before.>

Radjerd takes short glances behind him; no one’s following them—yet. No doubt him and Calista are plastered throughout the cameras. Willa Corp would be on their _asses_ soon enough.

<NO!> She screams. Radjerd sees why—there aren’t any cabs—or a waiting spot. <I don’t understand—they were here before— _shit! I should have checked! I’m an idiot! > _

<Look, maybe we can spot one up the road.>

<I was going to call ahead, but I panicked—I promise I’ll get us on one.>

<Hey—there’s one up ahead!> Radjerd motions forward, his arms waves in the air. A limo is parked underneath a street-lamp. It’s black, but he’s ridden them before. They’re usually more money to ride, but if there’s a triangular sticker on the bumper, it’s a passenger car. <You have money?>

<Yes—go— _GO! > _

Radjerd manages to hit the back of the bumper with his hands—out of breath, it’s his last attempt at getting their attention. A woman steps from the back door, wearing a velvet green gown. She glowers, holding a drink in her hand. Her green eyes burn when she appears to recognize him.

He sees another person get out—the driver. Dammit, this wasn’t a cab at all! Then why did it have that sticker?

He hears Calista’s yelp, <Come back— _come back! > _

Radjerd squints—holy shit.

He doesn’t understand what she says. He did, however, understand that she called him a bastard.

The woman lunges for him, overestimating her punch. She falls on her knees, her glass splinters across the sidewalk.  

Her silver hair is in a tousled mess as she groans, her driver helping her off the ground. She holds the well-dressed woman cusses at him, even giving him the finger.

<See if you can talk to them—go around, she dropped the glass!>

Calista tries, but she stumbles back when the woman meets eye contact.

_< Merise?!> _


	11. Chapter 11

<Listen, she’s Aleck’s wife. I’ll try to reason with her.> Calista reaffirms Radjerd, bracing her hands out in front of her.

<Do you think we have the time for that?>

<We do. It won’t take much convincing—I can speak her language, after all. Wait in the alleyway.> She points to the dark spot between the two brick buildings. <I know we don’t have much time, but I believe I can get her to listen to me. Wait until I give you the all-clear.> He doesn’t have a choice but to follow the girl’s directions. If he doesn’t, he’ll just be thrown in his Willa Corp prison all over again. He dashes in between the buildings keeping a close eye on Calista. The girl helps Merise back to the limo, but not without some struggle—the driver helps too. Calista said she can speak Weltish, but…would that be enough? Merise didn’t know Calista—or he assumed she didn’t. If Calista hadn’t been able to talk to Aleck at the facility, then there had to be a reason why—was it that Phoebe stopped her? Why would she? And the biggest question of all—if Phoebe can’t trust Calista, why did she allow her to work for Willa Corp in the first place?

Radjerd doesn’t know what to do. If he stands here for much longer, there’s a chance someone will catch them. If he runs, he’s got nowhere to go. No money to his name and chances are, people will recognize him as the dead man resurrected. He groans, pressing his fingers between his brows. Instead of the camera, he should have broken that dinky man’s nose! He could have taken the bastard! And, Cordelia seemed to be the kind of woman who would lord things over one’s head for a millennium. No doubt her reputation was at stake—although from what he saw, it may already be tarnished.

Radjerd watches carefully as he sees Calista attempt to reason with Merise. The tempered glass was hard to see through, yet the light in the back of the limo showcased their actions perfectly. He wishes he knew what she was saying—but instead his eyes grasp onto the clues that reveal themselves. She pulls the A. Firthe file from her bag, showing the woman the documents inside. Damn, what he’d give to see what’s written on them. She pulls out two more files, but Merise raises her hand. Was she going to _slap_ Calista? Radjerd’s instinct is to run forward to help, but Calista stops the attack, appearing to narrow her eyes at the woman. Shit, that’s a cold stare. While keeping her hand in place, Calista appears to be rummaging through the files, but what could it be? Unless…she was showing _how_ she’s related to Aleck Firthe—was it a DNA test?

When Calista said she was _family,_ that Aleck would listen to her, it could only lead to one conclusion.

_Calista is Aleck’s daughter._

Radjerd’s mouth forms in a circle as he nods, that would make sense why she knew so much about Cordelia. Or, why she didn’t seem as fond of the blonde—she was a half sister that missed out on so much.  It’s the only reason Phoebe would have tried to keep Calista away from Aleck—Radjerd has no proof, but that’d be the most logical explanation. The Aleck he knew would never have cheated on Merise, but this Aleck he knew nothing about…

He cocks his head forward. Okay, what was she saying now? She opens the bag, encouraging Merise to have a look inside. Whatever it is, she’s taken aback, cupping the girl’s face instead. That was a sudden change—she even _hugs_ Calista—the black haired girl appears to be uncomfortable.  What had he just witnessed?! Radjerd doesn’t know if he should approach the vehicle. At the same time, he had to be mindful—there’s no way the cameras didn’t pick them up escaping. He grips the corner of the brick wall, weighing his options. Calista didn’t wave him over, or leave the vehicle. What was going on?

Calista leans her head back, past Merise’s unkempt bun. Their eyes meet once again, as she nods her chin over. Radjerd peeks around the left corner to see if anyone’s coming. To his relief, no one is.

But he knows it won’t be long before someone does.

Radjerd hesitates—he doesn’t want to be under the streetlight, but he quickly steps forward.

The window rolls down, Merise simply glares at him. She mutters something under her breath, gripping the file in her hand.

He looks down.

Calista _Firthe._

His sudden suspicion was correct. With the last name so prominent, no wonder Merise harboured some resentment. In fact, he’s surprised that she didn’t throw Calista out of the car. A secret daughter who was bold enough to take her unknown father’s last name…Calista wasn’t kidding when she said she was family.

He sees Calista leave the vehicle, as she says, <I think she’ll let you come with us.>

<But—how?> He didn’t realize she had much to talk about other than her relation to Aleck. <What did you tell her?>

Calista looks to the side. <What I had to. Please, we have little time. Just sit up front, I’ll explain when we get to the manor.>  

<I think Merise wants to kill me.> Radjerd says uncomfortably, noting the feral look in the woman’s eyes.

<Well, I told her that she could have you at her whims.> Calista lets out an uncertain laugh. <She’s drunk, so I think she’ll come to her senses in the morning. Or, keep her senses, rather.>

<Alright, that’s good enough for me. Even if that means I’ll die, I’ll at least be out of that dark room.> He hops into the front seat. The driver stares at him coolly as he buckles up. The private glass raises, leaving both Radjerd and the driver in silence. It suits him well enough that she can’t understand St. Antillan, he’s in no mood to talk. His nerves jumble in his stomach when he watches familiar looking buildings pass him by—It feels like home, but, it isn’t. Even though he’s been here for god-knows how long, it still feels like a dream to him. Fitz, Aleck, the watch…did all of that _truly_ happen? A burst of adrenaline hits his chest as he lets out a soft breath. No, now wasn’t the time to get lost in his head. He has to stay focused, diligent.

He has to know—why is Calista Firthe helping him?

***

Cordelia lies in her bed, the sheets covered past her nose. Dried tears cracked her makeup, as she pouts a heavy pout. She had tried to contact Noralyn, but as per usual, busy. Cordelia buries her head in her pillow, moaning over her misfortune. Sadie had _just_ left Cordelia’s bedside and feels humiliated for how she acted in front of her driver. She wasn’t paid to be her therapist, but all her woes poured out of her as she clasped to the taller girl’s frame. Her father’s unconditional support is what kept her afloat, but now? He thought of her like trash, just like her mother had.

There was no worse feeling in the world.

Cordelia didn’t understand any of this bullshit—while she got the passion behind _discovering_ what lied beyond the fabric of reality, there was no proof that others had done it. She knew that, but, she wanted freedom. She wanted freedom so bad that she let her guard down—that man who _broke_ into her house, she let him play her—and would have let him do whatever he wished, just because of his good looks. No wonder Noralyn started distancing herself—she didn’t want Cordelia to be a bad influence on her family. She grits her teeth together, trying to stifle a pathetic sob. Maybe she was a whore.

For the love of it all. Cordelia feels a pang of thirst—which, she doesn’t feel water can quench. The downstairs bar will have just the drink for her. A rosy wine and a plate of fine cheese is just the thing that could ease her self-pity.

Cordelia throws the sheets off of her as she slips on a silky housecoat and goes downstairs. She doesn’t mind her bare feet on the tile—her clammy soles feel nice against the cool flooring. She opens the door, immediately freezing in place.

Her father’s here.

She turns quickly, brows furrowing in anger. She did _not_ want him to see her puffy face.

“Cordelia.” He says simply. “Please, stay.”

“No thank you.” She sniffs.

“I feel terrible about what I said—even if you blatantly disrespected my wishes, ultimately, I was the one who put you in that situation.” He takes one swig of his drink. “Your mother’s anger is directed at me, not you.”

Cordelia stops in her tracks, debating if she wants to speak with him. Her feelings were still hurt…but…she lets out a sigh, deciding that she may as well stay—she was here for liquid numbing, after all. Cordelia joins her father on the stool after pouring herself some rosy red wine.

“Are you kidding? She’s livid.” Cordelia utters after taking a sip. “Didn’t you hear her say that she wanted to throw me out?”

“She would never, even if she’s mad right now.” He laughs weakly as he stirs his drink. “Besides, if she throws you out of here, I’ll be on the way out too.”

“She can’t throw you out of this place, it belongs to you.”

He chuckles. “That might be true, but…” He falls silent, choosing to nurse his drink instead. He only stops when a servant interrupts them, announcing that her mother, as well as two other guests,  are in the lobby. The uncertainty in the red-haired woman’s voice strikes Cordelia as odd. She’s about to investigate but comes face-to-face with Phoebe’s cousin.

_…What?_

“I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I need to talk to you, Aleck.” Her voice wavers nervously. “I know it’s late, but it’s an emergency.”

“Hold on—what are you doing here?” Cordelia demands. “Do you know how late it is?” She didn’t feel comfortable in her bedclothes in front of this person she barely knew.  

“I came back with Merise. She’s the one who granted me entry.” The black-haired girl reassures them. “I wouldn’t have come here unless it was urgent. But, it has to do with the watch.”

Cordelia bristles at the word. That’s what got her into trouble in the first place.

“I guess I should leave then since I’m no longer a part of operations.” Cordelia hops off the stool.  She mutters under her breath, _“Carry on,”_ before she takes her leave. Her father looks at her, frowning before he puts his attention on the girl named Calista.

She paces through the hall quickly, sharply running into her mother. Instead of the mad disapproving stare she expects, Merise gently grabs her arm. “Cordelia, we need to talk about something.”

“…I know you’re mad. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, forget about that. It’s about the girl—the girl who’s here.” She shakes her head in shock. “I-I just can’t come to terms with it…it’s so unreal.”

“What is— _have you been drinking?”_ She catches the whiff of alcohol on her mother’s breath, a highly unusual circumstance. She wasn’t a woman who drank unless it was a special occasion. To think she doused herself in alcohol must have meant she’s deeply troubled.

“That doesn’t matter right now. We need to follow her—”

“Listen, it’s about the watch, and frankly I’m done with all that nonsense.” Cordelia tenses.

“I didn’t want you to know about Willa Corp, dimension travel, or any of it.” Her mother says softly. “That wasn’t supposed to be the life for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Cordelia asks with frustration. “It’s whatever, alright? I don’t believe it anyway.”

“I have to tell you about Calista.” Her mother’s eyes close. “Come, we’ll talk about it with your father—"

“—Radjerd?” Cordelia’s eyes widen at the man in the doorway—those violet eyes and unkempt hair only belong to the St. Antillan man. “Mom, don’t tell me you brought him with you.”

“He wasn’t supposed to come in the house.” Her mother’s tone boils with fury. “But he doesn’t understand a lick of Weltish.”

“If you tell me why he’s here, I can help,” Cordelia reassures her mother. “I can speak his language.”

“Which is probably what got you into _trouble_ in the first place.” Merise looks Cordelia up and down. “But the past is in the past. We have to make do with the mess we’re in now.”

Is she _hearing_ her mom right? “You ignored my question. Why is Radjerd here?”

“He won’t be in a minute, now come with me.” Her mother’s grip tightens on Cordelia's arm. “Your father's in his study, correct?”

“No, he’s in the bar—Mom, they’re just talking about some silly watch. How about this, you tell me why Radjerd’s here, then I can help you communicate with him.”

“It’s not that easy.” She groans in frustration. "Fine. Tell him that he’s to wait in the lobby until he gets the keys to the guest house. He was supposed to wait outside, but of course, like the mutt he is, he can’t understand a word I’m saying.”

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?” Even for Merise Firthe, that was harsh.

“No, it’s the words I feel that best describe him. How he violated you in public like that—I could slap him if it weren’t for the fact that he’s—”

“—Whoa, hold on a minute. Violated?!” Cordelia pulls her arm from her mother’s grip. “Since when was a simple kiss a _violation?”_

Her mother’s green eyes dart from left to right before covering her mouth with her hand. “But surely you must have…”

“Had sex with him? No!” Cordelia’s even more confused. “And if you think he’s a violator, why did you bring him here?”

“…Now I’m not so sure.” She frowns. “Just get the help to figure out his lodgings, I have to discuss this with your father and the girl.” Her mother hurries to the bar, as Radjerd takes his cue that it’s okay to approach her, since her mother’s gone. Smart man. Cordelia’s slightly embarrassed at her unkempt appearance, but his warm violet eyes indicate that he doesn’t mind a bit.

<Can you tell me why you’re here at least?> Cordelia raises a brow, but he’s too focused on the v neck of her housecoat. She’s lucky she’s wearing a bra.

<Nice to see you too.> He says with a hint of sarcasm. <I understand you’d be pissed about the media, but it’s not my fault.>

<That’s not it.> Cordelia shakes her head. <My mom’s clearly drunk and cryptic—and I have no idea why? Because of some cousin of Phoebe’s?> She grumbles. <Can you tell me what’s going on right now?>

<Well…> Radjerd winces, his lips raising above his teeth. <I don’t know for sure, but…I think Calista is your sister—well—half sister.>

<Don’t fuck with me like that. My dad’s loyal to mom, he’d never have an affair.> But—that would make sense—why her mother was acting weird. No! It doesn’t make sense. <I know my mom’s a tyrant, but my father loves her.>

<I don’t know for sure, but maybe you should talk to them. If she is, it’s better you know, right?>

<So you’re just telling me that based off of what?>

<A file she had at Willa Corp—it belongs to your father. She had one on her as well—I mean I thought it was you, but it turns out her last name is Firthe as well.>

<Impossible.> Cordelia utters. <If she was a half-sibling—and I say _if,_ her mother wouldn’t use my father’s last name as that girl’s. There has to be another reason.> Cordelia pulls the man’s leather sleeve. <You’re coming with me. I need to know what’s going on, and I can’t leave you alone in the manor.> Radjerd nods, appearing to be fine with the arrangement.

Whatever was going on, Cordelia would get to the bottom of it.

Tonight.


	12. Chapter 12

All eyes are on Cordelia.

She lets go of Radjerd’s wrist, leaving him at the doorway. Cordelia takes careful steps towards Calista. Her eyes are wide with fear, like a doe in the headlights—she could scamper away within a moment’s notice. In her peripheral, her father’s looking through two files, although those aren’t of interest to her.

 “What’s going on?” She demands, her steel blue eyes narrowing at Calista. 

“Cordelia, it’s Willa Corp business—like I said before. No need to interrogate the poor lass.” Her father places the files on his desk, clearing his throat. “You were the one who decided to take your own leave.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes as she points to Radjerd. “Plans have changed. I have _him_ spewing nonsense that _she’s_ my half-sister. Is that true?”

Aleck coughs, wide-eyed. “Unless my DNA has been sold on the black market, that wouldn’t be possible.”

“Then what were you going to say, _Mom?”_

Merise holds her head in her hands, gripping the edges of her bangs. “I blame my poor tact for this, but Cordelia—please let us talk in peace. When we come to a solution, we’ll bring both of you in.”

“What does Radjerd have to do with this?” Cordelia demands.

“I do say, I’m quite confused as well. Merise, why is the lad here?”

 _Lad?_ Did her father conveniently forget that this man held a gun to his head? 

“Merise, as much as I appreciate all of this, really, I think we should talk in private,” Calista says quietly, but it only makes Cordelia more suspicious. "Please, just let me talk to them—alone.” Cordelia crosses her arms, examining the taller girl. It’s not like Cordelia felt she was dangerous.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not some secret sibling of mine?”

She looks appalled. “No!”

Cordelia sighs. “Then is Phoebe related to us secretly? Because you’re apparently a Firthe.”

Her father’s head jerks back to the files as Merise hops up. Appearing to be quite sober, she places her hand on the file. What’s the problem, he’s looked at them before?

“Okay, maybe there’s something else to the Firthe story, but can you tell me how you convinced my mother to bring him back to the manor?”

“That’s enough.” Merise warns.

“I need to know this isn’t some sort of ambush where he’s going to shoot me for disturbing the attempted robbery.” Cordelia raises a brow. “You don’t have a gun in that bag, do you?”

Calista laughs, nerves plague her voice. “Don’t be silly, why would I need a gun?”

“Well, maybe I should have a look—”

“Cordleia—leave her alone." Her mother raises her voice. “Now, go get one of our security people to give you the keys to the guesthouse. That’s where _he’ll_ be staying.

There it is, the disdain in her voice. What the hell did Calista say to her? It seems no one’s going to say a word—she’s wasting her time.

“Fine. Whatever.” Cordelia shrugs. “But if she robs us, don’t come crying to me.”   

“I’m finished with your disrespect.” Her mother points her finger at the door. “Out! _Now!”_

Cordelia closes the door behind her, taking a long, deep breath.

“I really can’t stand that woman.” She mutters to herself.

<What’s that? I can't understand Weltish.>

<It wasn’t meant for you.> Cordelia grumbles. <I’m supposed to get you the key to the guesthouse—where you’ll be staying. When we get there, you’re going to tell me everything you know about Calista _Firthe._ >

<I don’t know much about her either—she only helped me escape because that article got out.> 

The article that made her own mother turn into a drunken mess. If it wasn't that, maybe she just had enough with Cordelia— _fuck, that’s a depressing thought._

<Yeah, my family already reamed me for that—probably why my mother's smelling like alcohol." 

<She tried to swing a few punches at me.>

<Really?!> Cordelia gasps.

<She missed, but yep, she did.>

Wow—and Radjerd was _not_ a small man. Cordelia had to say; that impressed her.

<Well, it’s a good thing we have tripled the security, in case we have any other unwanted guests.> Since their majordomo Yolanda was away on vacation, she didn’t know who would have the key. Her mother should have told her who would.  Conveniently, one of the security guards walks up to Cordelia with a key in hand.

“Thank you.” She thanks the red-haired man and encourages Radjerd to follow her. Before leaving the house, she grabs her father’s slippers. They’re a bit big for her, but they’ll do for now.

“Miss Firthe, I can escort our guest. You don’t need to leave in your bedclothes.”

“I’m fine. Could use the walk.” Is what Cordelia replies. Chances are, everyone in this manor knew his face, thanks to that bastard who published their photos online. Cordelia trips over her footing but thankfully catches her balance. She takes his slippers and throws them near the well-lit fountain.

<What? The pathway won’t hurt my feet.>

<No, it’s not that.> Radjerd’s stare lingers to her bustline—her bra revealed for the world to see. Not that it really bothers her, it’s one of her prettier sets. <You might want to tie yourself back up.>

<You don’t seem bothered by it.> She shrugs. Radjerd doesn’t dare say a word.

A nestled area near the main property, the two-storey guest house is as big as a garage unit. Regardless of its size, all the amenities were present. Cordelia unlocks the key and turns on the lights—a nice ornate living room, television, fireplace and kitchen were all in sight. Now, why didn’t Cordelia take the opportunity to snag this place for herself?

<This is where I get to stay?> He sounds confused and delighted at the same time.

<I guess so.> She looks around. <Tomorrow, someone will bring in food, but you’re out of luck for tonight. Water’s clean, plumbing works. You should be good.>

<You’re not staying?>

<I’m pretty sure my mom would kill you if I did.> If she tried to throw drunken punches, it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. <Well, have a good rest. I’m getting out of here before both parents realize I’m gone.>  

<Where to?> His voice carries a protective tone.

<Getting a drink at a club, nowhere special.>

<Do you think you should be going out by yourself, after what happened?>

<Look, no one knows where I am at this place. It’ll be fine.> She studies him briefly. Leaving him here _would_ be a waste. <You wouldn’t by chance want to come with, do you?>

<I don’t have any money.> He frowns.

<You’re covered as my guest, don’t worry about it.> Odd, but if he wasn’t the type to leech, then she could respect that. <Drinks are on me.>

<Seems unfair.> He rests his hands on his hips. <But, I wouldn’t mind getting out. I’ve been locked in that room since our last date.> He eyes her up and down, her bra still exposed. He doesn’t move, but neither do his eyes. Cordelia looks down, shaking her head as she ties herself up.

<Stay here, and I’ll get Sadie to take us. I need to change.>

Radjerd hums, <Will you wear that black dress of yours?>

Cordelia scrunches her nose. <It’s dirty.>

<Then wear another little black dress.> His grin, while mildly inappropriate, is delicious. Cordelia slips from the living room, pacing quickly. If she times it right, she can get dressed, and be out the door before her parents were done with their mysterious visitor. However, keeping Radjerd around would keep herself in check. No one would try to hit on her with Radjerd as her date.

***

Merise looks around the room.

Aleck’s silent.

Had Calista made a mess of things? God, she totally did! This is what Phoebe was afraid of— _this_ is why the brunette told her to keep her affairs a secret. No. If Merise believed her, there was still a chance Aleck would. And, if he did. Maybe she could fix things—for good.

“Aren’t you worried that Cordelia will run off with _him?”_ Aleck frowns, sticking his hands inside his pockets.

“Cordelia will be fine. She’ll be off to that nightclub of hers, and honestly, it’s better that she go somewhere where no one will recognize her. It’s the only reason I never interfered, as much as I hate the idea of it.” Merise turns to her husband. There’s more she wants to say, but Calista understands why she can’t.  “Aleck, I know this is sudden—and I still haven’t forgiven you for involving Cordelia in Willa Corp’s affairs—”

“—What’s the matter?” He asks with concern.

“Calista, you need to be the one to address this.”

Calista clenches her hands together, her palms became clammy. Her heart’s racing, her eyes glued to Merise’s calculative expression.

Aleck’s smile calms her. “If my wife brought you to me, then it must be important.”

“It is.” She dips her hand into her knapsack, pulling out a watch. A red, brilliantly coloured orb dons the front—Aleck’s mouth gasps.

“Oh my god.” He steps towards it, his hand reaching out. “Is that what I _think_ it is?”

“Yes,” Merise begins. “It’s just like the watch that brought you _here_.” She steps forward, taking a better look for herself. “It’s amazing how my uncle orchestrated the whole thing—god, it’s been forever since I thought of it. I was only nine years old.”

“And how did you come across this watch, lass?”  

Calista tries to open her mouth, but a squeak comes out. Merise steps beside her, as she pulls out a crinkly file folder. She hands it to him, as he leans the file back—his eyes widening at the paper in front of him. She watches perplex emotions cross his face.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I promise, it’s not foraged.”

Aleck stares at the papers, then back at her. He’s awestruck.  

“I don’t mean to be rude, but, I need your help straight away. It’s to do with Radjerd Laurius…”

***

“I can’t believe I willingly brought you here—with him no less—but if it puts a smile on your face...” Sadie grins. “You’re not yourself when you’re moping about.”

“You’re right. My parents—the shock from the press—it got to me. I didn’t mean to spill my tears all over you.”

“Miss, you can spill your tears on me anytime.” Her smile turns into a worried frown. “Please, promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

“I won’t, it’s why I brought him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. I know you’d rather not hear me say it, but—he’s got his eye on you. Be careful, alright?”

“I always am.”

Sadie glares at Radjerd through the rearview mirror. “I know he doesn’t understand a thing I say, but you can tell him if he thinks he’s getting a free shot at you tonight—I’ll clock his lights out.”

“Just get home in one piece, and I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Do you think staying the night is the best idea—”

“I got a room here, and I’ll get him his own.”

“Your masks are in the trunk.” With one click, Cordelia hears the trunk doors open. Velvet gleaming masks, optional, but preferred for Cordelia. As a Firthe, she wouldn’t take any chances.

<As we discussed, your name is Brett, and I’m Lexa.>

<I still think Brett is a weird name.>

<No, it’s _salacious. >_ Cordelia laughs.

<Ah, I shouldn’t complain. If you wish for me to be Brett, Brett I shall become. He takes the black mask and slides the elastic around his head. <I probably look like a supervillain.>

<Actually, the getup works quite well.> Cordelia says as the two walk away from the vehicle. They walk up multiple flights of stairs, giving them enough time to rehearse their names. By the time they get to the bouncer, both are checked in and are free to do as they please.

Dim rouge lighting gives the place a warm, sensual feel. Soft jazz echoes through the place. The bar’s aglow with warm orange lights, optimal for setting the mood. Radjerd briefly steps away to use the restroom. While he’s busy, she’ll get drinks.

As she approaches the bar, she notices the woman there is _not_ one she recognizes. Her large, ample chest is framed nicely with her black clingy top. Her leather pants further highlight this woman’s perfect curves. Her equally as curvy hair dangles in ringlets around her neck, tickling her bare shoulders. God, this woman was _hot._  She leans forward, smiling.

“What can I get you, gorgeous?” Her accent is heavy—of course, Antillan. They’re all perfect.

 “You have any of that rose wine?” Cordelia leans forward. “I’m interested in a taste.”

“Oh? That’s a delicacy I believe we have. Pardon me, I’m new.” Her sea blue eyes settle on Cordelia’s. They’re a brilliant shade. The woman’s smile shines as she picks up the glass bottle. “I didn’t think we had that blend here—it’s quite—well—”

“Strong? Yeah, that’s the point.” Cordelia sighs. “It’s been a _day.”_

“Allow me to make it better then. Her dark rouge tinted lips smirk. She grabs the bottle, pouring it into a small glass. “We’ll start you off light, then we’ll see where the night goes.”

“It’ll be better if I can’t remember it.” She mutters to herself.

“It won’t be if someone takes advantage of that pretty face of yours. That mask of yours doesn't hide much." 

“I have a date with me. He’ll make sure I’m fine.”

“He?” her smirk turns into a frown. “If I weren’t on shift, I’d take you somewhere nice.”

Cordelia flushes. She didn’t even know the woman’s name, but she’d have gladly taken her offer.

She takes a couple of sips, allowing the soft beats she hears to calm her senses. How was it that a simple place like this could suck her concerns straight from her bones.

“Enjoy, sweetie.” The woman grins, soon sauntering to her next customer. Cordelia picks up the glass and heads to a couch by the window. Thankfully, that spot was empty.

Radjerd soon joins her, examining the lighting, and the atmosphere. People were snuggling, kissing, and others were dragged to private rooms. <You brought me to a sex club?>

<It’s not _just_ a sex club. It’s a place where people like me can feel—well—a bit _normal_. It might seem glamorous to be a Firthe in the public eye, but from all the scrutiny I get, why shouldn’t I be allowed to have some peace.>

<Ah, so that stuff gets to you then.>

<Well, _of course_ it would. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.>

<It makes sense, no need to justify it.> He leans his arm over her shoulder. <Although can we go somewhere else? I’m not comfortable with these people all over each other.>

<That’s fine. I was given a key upon entry.> Cordelia jumps a bit when she feels his hand around her waist. She shoots him a look. He backs off, apologizing for his discrepancy.  

Cordelia opens the door, a warm coloured bed, two chairs and a box of chocolates, next to an opaque glass jar. The room is small but works considering what the original purpose is for. But, Cordelia usually kept her own company in here. It was a nice place to escape to when the manor became overbearing.

<I don’t know if it’s the music, but…I’m sorry if I scared you, Cordelia.> He takes off his mask and puts it on the bedside table. She does the same. 

<Yeah, it was quite something to seem my own father being held at gunpoint.> She grits her teeth, but soon smiles. <You’re forgiven...but I still want to know what Calista said to my mother.>

<I have no idea, they spoke in Weltish. She broke me out of Willa Corp and said Aleck could help me. That was the extent of it. I was so happy to burst out of there that I had no space in my head for questions. Being arrested does things to your head, you know.>

<Arrested? I don’t think Willa Corp did that.>

<No, I mean in _jail. > _

<Right, you said before…>  

<Yeah. Six years ago, it was awful. The clothes they give you have been worn by at least three thousand other people, and they never fit right.>

<How long were you in for?>

<Two years. They pack you in with other criminals of your crime class, and a lot of them aren’t very kind to converse with. I had a lot of time to myself. Really makes a man rethink his choices.>

<Which is why you broke into my house?> Cordelia covers her mouth. <Sorry, it just slipped out.>

<It’s alright. May I?> Cordelia offers him her glass as he takes a sip. <Not bad, not bad.>

<It’s one of the best wines here, if I were to wager.> Cordelia chuckles.

<Speaking of a wager.> He purrs, <I’d love to continue ours.>

<It’s off. My dad’s cut me off from Willa Corp.>

<No down payment?>

<Nope.> She looks at him, her fingers eager to feel his skin. She knew very well it wasn’t the wine, either.

<May I taste you again, Cordelia?> He grins, his eyes almost sparkle. How was that possible? But, Cordelia doesn't see why not. She gasps when he leans her on her back, as he captures her mouth, his hands gliding over her body. He hikes the dress over her hips as he breaks away from her, his head moving down towards her midsection. He lifts her leg over his shoulder, his nose gliding against her thigh. She twitches when his mouth rests between her thighs, right on the cusp of her black lace panties. She flushes when she feels the heat of his breath against her. His lips kiss her there, his teeth pulling at the fabric.

<Not so hard, you’ll tear them.> She scolds breathlessly.

He loops his finger around the band, exhilaration fills her as the fabric trails down her leg. She shivers, as he takes no time, purring against her. Her toes curl as she bites her lip.

His tongue makes light movements against her as she grabs the bedsheets—the way he hums deep within her—delicious. Every inch of her skin tingled with glee when his tongue played with her. A building mound of delight forms in her gut. That man knew exactly what he was doing, and _god_ , was it satisfying. She’s had good lovers, but this? It’s like he doesn’t have to try! She wants to slap him, he teases her with the tip of his tongue. He’s delaying her release on purpose!

<Idiot, just get it over with.> She cusses in frustration.

<Patience, _my Cordelia. > _He hums, as he’s clearly enjoying her frustration. She ought to crush his head with her thighs. <You taste divine.>

<Shut up.> She stammers, breathless. <Just because you know how to perform doesn’t mean you can get away with saying that stuff.>

<I think it does.> Radjerd replies cheekily. Her body tenses, anticipating what could be next. With one gentle flick, he sends Cordelia over the edge. He holds her in place as he welcomes each convulsion with his mouth, her breaths staggard. 

<If Calista hadn’t interrupted, I’d have taken you on that bed.>

God, why did his rough tone excite her? <Doubtful.> She teases. <Hard to prove when you can’t go back in time—or are you claiming you can do that too?> He pulls his shirt off of him—his firm chest almost glistened off the dim light of the room.

He ignores her as he pulls down his jeans, eying her intensely. He was waiting for permission. Should she? After the conversation her father and she had—would she just be proving her parents right if she allowed this? Wouldn't she be the whore they thought she was?  _Wasn't she already?_

<Cordelia?>

<I-I’m sorry. I don’t want to go any further.> She leans up, expecting Radjerd to storm out. She wants him to—as tears form in her eyes. <I didn’t mean to lead you on.>

He says nothing, instead, sitting beside her. <Hey, it’s more than I thought I’d get.>

She bites her lip, her head becoming fuzzy from the drink she ordered. No, if she cries right now—she’ll look like an idiot. _Don’t ask what’s wrong. Don’t ask what’s wrong!_

<You alright?>  

Cordelia turns away, tears line her cheeks. Her makeup, _ruined._

He pulls her to his chest, securing her with both arms. Oddly enough, it calms her. His warm skin soothes her shame, his heartbeat relaxes her. <If you’re not into it, I won’t force you. Some girls cry after—>

<I am _not_ a crier!> She growls. <It’s been…a bad day, alright?>

<I disagree.> He smiles, licking his lips. The action brought her back to minutes before. <I got to taste a Firthe for the very first time.>

<You’re gross.> She mumbles. He doesn’t speak as he leans her on the bed. Radjerd’s content with snuggling her? If she were in his shoes, she’s not sure she would have taken kindly to his sudden refusal.

But one thing was certain.

Her respect for him grew tenfold.

 

Cordelia shifts in place, her arm brushing beside warm skin. Her eyes jolt open as she jerks back, but no, it’s Radjerd. Had he stayed here with her the whole night? His relaxed face was rather charming, as a sliver of sunlight illuminated his face. She would’ve liked to stare at him longer, but the shrilling ringing noise of a cell-phone propelled her out of bed. She scrambles through her bag, it’s the secured line… _Phoebe?!_

She flips the phone open to hear a panicked voice.

“Cordelia, it’s me. Your father isn’t picking up, which leads me to believe _Calista_ got to him.”

“Wait, what do you mean by _got to him?_ Is he in danger?” Cordelia’s pulse quickens.

“God, I was right. Crap…what did she tell you?”

“We hardly spoke, although she was quite insistent in talking to my father. Why?”

“Is Radjerd with you?”

She looks behind her, then replies, “No. He’s somewhere in the manor.”

“Dammit, it’s like I thought. Well, since you’re the only one who’s answering their phone, I want to give you a heads up. “I found Fitz.”

_Fitz? Oh god…_

“How about we meet in an hour and a half? I need to get ready, find our resident escapees, you know." 

“That’s perfect. Thanks, Cordelia.” Cordelia hangs up as Radjerd bats the phone out of her hand. He’s rather handsy, but Cordelia doesn’t care. Anyone who was so thorough with her was allowed to be.

<You have so much hair.> He plays with it, stroking it between his fingers. <It’s so light—I can hardly believe it’s real.>

<I’ll refuse to believe you’ve never seen a blonde woman.> She rolls her eyes.

<They aren’t so common where I’m from.> He laughs deeply, pulling her close for a kiss. The vibration of his voice tickles in her ear. She doesn't want this moment to end, but it's for his own good. Radjerd will want to hear this.

<We have to get to the manor.> She sits up. <They found Fitz.>

Radjerd’s face drops.


	13. Chapter 13

<They found him…> His voice is quiet, shock laces his tone. Cordelia’s wide-eyed, she swears she sees tears in his eyes.

<Phoebe confirmed they have him in custody. Take that as you will.> Cordelia leaves the comforts of the bed, adjusting her dress accordingly. She takes a brief look in the mirror, fixing her hair before grabbing her purse. Radjerd gets up from the bed, immediately rushing for the door. <You might want to put some pants on before we leave.>

<Y-Yeah, I was going to.> He’s still in that haze. Even though it gets harder and harder to believe, Cordelia’s gut confirms that his shock is real. Who did she let herself get entangled with? Radjerd slips on his shirt and slides his jeans up his well-toned calves. Her stomach sinks—did she make a mistake in refusing the man’s proposition? No, there was plenty of time for sex, he lived right next door to her. She had to get home before Phoebe became suspicious.

Radjerd bends over, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Cordelia focuses on the tightness of his glutes, feigning ignorance as he turns around, a tiny envelope is in his hand.

With a raised brow he asks, <Looks like a sealed letter.>

He’s right. The envelope is blank, but Cordelia can see the lines of the paper inside when the sun hits it. She slips it into her bag—she’ll read it later.

Right now, she had to call Sadie.

 

Cordelia takes advantage of their travel time to check out the letter in her purse. With a nail file, she cuts the brim of the envelope open, as an index card slips out—it smells like perfume. Odd, she didn’t recall the scent, but her passenger did. His head is lifted from the fog as the smell brings him to attention.

<What does the letter say?> He peers over, saying nothing of the scent.

< _Call me if your brute gives you a hard time. > _Cordelia reads aloud. A phone number is placed beside the message. She reads the bottom, seeing a signature there. It looks as if it spells Freydis, but she's unsure. 

<I’m a brute now?>

<No, no. Someone at the bar hit on me last night—or I think she did. I wasn’t sure if she was teasing me, or…>

<Sounds like someone I know.> Nostalgia laces his voice.

<Maybe you know her, who knows?> Cordelia shrugs, slipping the card into her purse. She didn’t plan on calling the woman, at least, not right now.

<Did you get a name?>

A small blush graces her cheeks. <No, I didn’t even think to ask.>

<Well clearly you made an impression on her if you got a number. But, I’m letting you know now. I don’t share well.> There’s that purr again as his hand grazes her thigh. At that moment, the car sharply turns left. Cordelia whips her head up—seeing the warning glint in Sadie’s eye. God damn, she did _not_ mess around. She didn’t bother speaking since the privacy window was up.

<I don’t think your driver likes me—I don’t think I like her very much, either.> He narrows his violet eyes.

<No, it’s just a sharp turn, you’re thinking about it too much.> If Cordelia were paying attention to the passing landmarks outside, she could confirm that truth.

He falls silent, all humour wiped from his face. He’s thinking of Fitz again…isn’t he?

Cordelia allows him to stay silent, as her own thoughts plague her. What if this whole _dimensional reality_ paradox was real, and Cordelia was being the unreasonable one? She shakes her head, that’s silly. She had nothing to base that off of. She had every right to be skeptical. Then why did Radjerd believe it?

No. Cordelia draws a mental line in her head. She refuses to believe in anything until she has the proper evidence to back it up. Phoebe even said it herself—there wasn’t any way she could prove any of Willa Corp’s findings as fact. It’s all based on speculation.

They arrive in the driveway; Cordelia’s heart pounds. The thought of her parents and the newfound Firthe girl feel too much to bear. She doesn’t want to go in. Radjerd eyeballs her to follow, but she takes her time getting off her seatbelt. Not that it matters, she hears the sound of her mother’s voice near the doorway. Cordelia hears the woman’s heels against the cobblestone driveway. Her frown is deep, but her stare isn’t aggressive—it’s oddly warm. She appears to ignore Radjerd’s presence.

“Come inside, I want you to talk to Calista.”

That’s the first thing she says?

“Can I do it later? I don’t feel too great.” She lies.

“I’d rather the two of you clear the air. She’s worried she’s upset you.”

 _And why do you care?_ Is what Cordelia wants to ask. But whatever magic spell this _Calista_ had over her mother was pretty powerful. Maybe she should talk to Calista after all, so she can pry the girl’s secrets from within her.

“Who _is_ she?”

“A family member, and she should be treated as such.” Her mother’s tight-lipped.

If that’s the case, Cordelia’s on the right track. She doesn’t dare say that to her mother.

“Just so you know, Phoebe’s coming over. Apparently, Calista left without saying a word to her.”

“Phoebe’s coming _here?”_ The shrill shocked tone of her voice amuses Cordelia.

“Yes, she is—in about an hour, give or take. Oh, and she’s bringing a guy named Fitz with her.” Cordelia shrugs as she walks past her mother.

“Fitz?” Her mother stops, her eyes wide with shock.

“Yeah? You have a problem with him too?”

“Your tone is unappreciated—you better watch your mouth.” Her mother's voice sends a chill down her spine. 

"Sorry. But I have to go. Don't have time to chat with  _her_ right now." Cordelia doesn’t have time for this—she needs to get ready. Radjerd had the key to the guest house—he could be left to his own devices. Or, at least she hopes he can…

***

Radjerd leaves the guesthouse, his thoughts plague him. Fitz and Aleck never had one—then again, they rarely had company since Fitz’s mother passed away. It’s hard to believe Fitz was here, and he managed to find Willa Corp? It feels like a lifetime had passed since he’d seen his friend—waves of relief calm him. He enters the main foyer, his eyes searching for Cordelia. He assumes she’s in her room getting ready. He’d have done the same, but his wardrobe wasn’t versatile. Thankfully, the guesthouse had plumbing.  

His head jerks around as he hears a car in the driveway. This was it. Radjerd freezes in place, his palms clammy. Minutes pass before the door opens.

<Oh, god… _Fitz! >_ The scuffled looking man drops his belongings at the door, his green eyes weary from travel. His unkempt appearance mattered not. Radjerd squeezes his friend tight, his throat thick with emotion.  

A small smile graces the blond man’s lips. <I’m relieved to see you too, I didn’t think you made it.> Moisture stains his friend’s green eyes. Radjerd’s arms remain secured around Fitz.

<It’s horrible, Radjerd. My father’s gone, half of Glade Bay is no longer in existence…it won’t be much longer until the void swallows it up.> Fitz’s wrists shake, Radjerd can feel them jitter against his waist. <Everyone we know of will die because of what my father did…> He collapses on his knees, his breaths becoming short as he falls silent. Radjerd attempts to keep him up but the man’s too heavy. He glances up at Phoebe, her face radiates concern. This must be the first time he’s acted up, especially if Phoebe’s looking so worried.

<I could have stopped it, but I was too late! Why wasn’t I smart enough to see the signs—why didn’t I force myself into Willa Corp sooner!?>

<You did what you could.>

<Thousands, if not _millions_ of lives were taken because of my father—because of me. Why was it that I survived…I didn’t deserve to!> He rakes his fingers through his hair multiple times—it’s hard to watch, but Radjerd refuses to let go of him.

<It’s okay, we can fix this.> Radjerd whispers.

<But how?! The watch is destroyed…>

<Then how did you get here?>

<…I went back to my father’s office. Saw the residue from the fracture—when I saw you fall. I thought you died that day... I met others, but…but they didn’t make it. They risked their lives for me, and I didn’t even think to save them.> Fitz’s eyes radiate helplessness as he looks up at Radjerd. <We need to find a way to reverse this. There has to be a way we can save everyone.>

<But…is time travel even possible?>

<It has to be—Phoebe told me it was.>

<She did?> Radjerd cocks his head at Phoebe. <How do you know?>

<It’s a long story.> She mutters, narrowing her eyes at the stairwell. <One that I’m hoping _my cousin_ can shed some light on.>

Her cousin…did she mean Calista?

His gut churns. He’s got a bad feeling about this.  


	14. Chapter 14

With a simple floral dress, Cordelia leaves the comforts of her room. Clutching the grooves of her second-floor window, Cordelia carefully descends, edging her toes on the ivory brick of the manor. Shoes were for amateurs. Staring at the beachfront below, she quickly hops from groove to groove. Within seconds, she meets the ground, her bare feet touching the sandy, grassy ground below. She never dared do this at night—not even she was willing to risk her neck. Sneaking past her father's study during her nightly escapades was far safer.

The sandy bar meets the soles of her feet, sand pressing in between her toes. What if Radjerd's words _were_ true? What did that mean for her future? Was Fitz some sort of alternate version of herself? What if her parents would like him over her? Cordelia's back stiffens, her body holding onto the tension. The worry. The regret.

She was spiralling. 

In five years, she'd be thirty. Her age would no longer be an excuse for her poor behaviour. She had to deny Radjerd's advances, no matter how skilled he was with her—the mere thought of his tongue sent tingling waves down her legs. It was the responsible thing to do, even if she didn’t want to do it. She wants to be better, be someone she could be proud of.

Someone her parents could be proud of.

That article…Cordelia's hands curl into fists. It messed up everything. It wasn’t her fault that she was followed.

Bloody hell…

Cordelia sighs to herself, didn’t she make a promise to herself that she would stop moping and face her problems head on? She climbed out a window for God’s sake! Better yet, she left Radjerd at the whims of her parents. If her mother didn’t already end his life…

Cordelia walks along the beachfront observing that the back of the manor oddly lacks in activity. It must mean that both Phoebe and Fitz had arrived. Her stomach drops. Did she have to face them?

She closes her eyes. The warm breeze splashes across her face. She can take peace in this brief, solitary relief that she’s given. Footsteps in the crinkly sand tell her she’s not alone. She turns around, her father’s worried face bearing with untold secrets.

“I know you like coming here when you feel bad.” Her father's calming words say. “If I’m partially to blame for that, I apologize.”

“You’re not.” Her throat feels constricted. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“Please, come inside.” He asks kindly. “Fitz wants to meet you.”

“Why?” a solid question. Why would the man want to meet Cordelia? It doesn’t make sense. To be completely honest, none of this does.

“He’s got…undeniable proof that what the lad said is true.” Her father slides his hands in his pockets. “If you're spending time with him, you should know about his past.”

Was he referring to Radjerd?

“I’m not _with_ Radjerd. What you saw in the article was only a kiss in exchange for information. I have no interest in pursuing this relationship.”

“I see…” Her father's puzzled, “Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”  

He raises a brow. “You went out with him last night. Don’t pretend that you didn’t, your mother and I know about Hidden Treasures. I know the reputation that place has.”

“Dad!” Cordelia’s hit with embarrassment. She didn’t want to get into the logistics of the nightclub, or what had transpired there. “It was better than leaving him here alone, he may have tried to steal from you again.”

“You still believe he would?” Her father asks with heavy concern.  

“Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.” There’s fear in his eyes. Why? “Aren’t you the slightest bit curious about the lad’s circumstance?” _Lad?_ “What’s that look for?”

“Soft words for a man who put a gun to your head.”

“A lot has changed since that night.” Her father concludes. That’s one point she can agree with, even if she didn't believe all of this dimensional nonsense. But, she did have one question on her mind.

“Where is Calista?”

“Calista is in her room,” Her room? That sounds a little too…permanent. Her father senses her confusion. _"M_ _eaning,_ she is going to live with us for the time being, at least until we can help her. Before you ask, I can’t tell you why. This is a private matter she asked me not to share with you.”

“But mother wants me to talk with her. How am I supposed to keep quiet about the thing I want to know most?”

“Please, for your sake don’t press the poor child. She’s been through enough.”

“As long as she’s not trying to turn my family against me—whatever she did clearly has my mother bewitched.”

“No one could bewitch your mother.” Her father laughs with an air of cordiality. “And please be kinder while addressing her. It hurts her feelings that you hold her in such low regard.”

 _What feelings?_ The woman was a right battle-axe. And if she was upset about Cordelia holding her to a lower standard, than maybe she should have tried to be kind. At least her father was making an effort.

Cordelia sighs. “If I go inside, what will I get in return?”

“The knowledge that our world isn’t what we thought it was, Cordelia. If you're willing to keep an open mind about all of this…you could learn a lot about Fitz and the lad.”

There’s that _lad_ again.

“…Fine, I’ll go.” Cordelia walks away from the beachfront, wiping them onto the grass. Her father does the same with his soles. “How did you get wrapped up with Willa Corp?”

“I’d like to tell you, but I feel you need more proof before I can. And, if your mother allows it.” His stare is soft. “I don’t want you to stare at me like I’m a different person.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Come, it’s best we go inside.” He rests his hand on Cordelia’s back and guides her to the front doors.

 

“Cordelia, there you are! Remember when I told you I couldn’t show you any proof regarding dimensions, fractures, _yadda yadda?”_ Phoebe greets both Cordelia and Aleck at the door. “I wanted to look for you myself, but I’m quite excited to show you this.” Why would Phoebe care if Cordelia believed any of this? It’s not like it’d make a difference in the long run…  

“How do you have proof?”

“Fitz has a video—he’s in the sitting room with your mom. Come.” Cordelia’s not sure that she wants to. If there’s a video—god—she’s not ready for this! It’s much more comfortable not believing, not understanding. But now, what other choice did she have? If she wanted to explore Radjerd’s world—no—that’s her father getting into her head.  

Phoebe brings Cordelia and her father to the sitting room—Radjerd and her mother sit on opposite settees. The blond man beside Radjerd must be Fitz…his appearance resembles her father in his youth. And those eyes—their coolness only rivalling her mother’s stare. She does her best to remain stoic and unassuming, but inside, she can barely keep it together.

“Fitz, this is my daughter, Cordelia.”  

He can understand Weltish? Cordelia’s impression of him is off—an associate of Radjerd’s could be bilingual. He says nothing, holding out his hand. His stare is unfocused. Cordelia also keeps silent, returning the pleasantry—his hand is clammy. She studies his face, his eyelids look swollen—had he been crying? Cordelia lets go of his hand and sits next to her mother, exchanging glances with Radjerd. Her father joins her on the settee.

“I was chatting with Cordelia about your video. Do you mind showing it to her?”

“I don’t want to scare her.” The man says offputtingly. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“But it might help her understand what we’ve discussed,” Phoebe mutters.

The man named Fitz lets out a long-drawn sigh. “Cordelia. Are you interested in being scarred for life?”

“Not particularly,” She responds in the same demeaning tone. “But Phoebe thinks I should be.”

Fitz motions for her to approach. Her father follows. She's curious why her mother remains seated. Did she already see this _scarring_ video?

“Just…prepare yourself. It’s not easy to watch.” Fitz warns, pressing play on his phone.

A whooshing sound plays from the device, the atmosphere is painted in vivid tones of purple. Cracks, just as Radjerd had described are littered through the sky. Her eyes widen when she hears faint screams in the distance. Flashes of lightning tear through the atmosphere, as the camera moves to Twin Waves Café…a brunette woman lies on her stomach, unconscious—or perhaps _worse._ She breathes in sharply, looking away as she feels a warm hand on her shoulder. She wants to say what she’s seeing is a work of fiction. But, to see something so blatantly in front of her like this—it’s hard to deny it.

Cordelia can’t look anymore.

“It’s the result of my father’s thoughtless actions—" Fitz chokes on his words—emotion clouding his tone. “Like you, my father is also Aleck. He was consumed with finding my mother so much that he lost sight of the risks.”

Cordelia shoots a look at her mother, who stares at her lap. She appears…ashamed?

“What happened to her?” Cordelia asks.

“It’s irrelevant.” He places the phone on his lap, standing up. “Forgive me, but I need a moment.” Cordelia lets him pass.

<Are you going to be okay? I know…it’s a lot to take in.> Radjerd whispers to her. 

<He’s your friend. Go.> There’s a hollowness to Cordelia’s words. She takes Radjerd’s place on the settee, as Phoebe sits next to her.

Cordelia stays silent. What she saw—it’s too much. 

Her mother’s voice cuts through her thoughts, “Cordelia, I never thought that this day would approach. But, there’s something we need to address.”

“Now?” She whines softly. “Don’t you think that I’ve seen and heard enough?”

“It’s the only time you’ll be open to my words.” She clears her throat. “When I was a little girl, I found out about Willa Corp. My uncle, Leonard Fastion was working on a case for Cornelius Firthe, your grandfather. I remember him being a tall, stilted man with a thick moustache. There was something dignified about Cornelius, yet something jarringly abhorrent, although my mind couldn’t identify what that was back then. He was a man of legacy, professionalism. But in his arms, was his sickly son—your father.”

“I didn’t know Dad was sick.” Cordelia turns to her father, his hands tightly folded.  

“I was very ill.” He says with a sigh.

“My uncle was a passionate man. A man that dedicated his life to his research. He never married, he was too brainchild between himself and Robert Willa, his cousin. Because of this, my uncle wanted me to carry on the legacy of Willa Corp with Robert’s daughter, Maurie—the two of us were never able to see eye to eye. But I digress. I met your father when I was eight years old. He seemed so helpless and sick.”

“I wasn’t helpless. I was lost, confused—that was all.” Her father corrects her, staring at an unnamed portrait on the wall. “To this day, I’ve sworn I’ve never belonged here—but I can’t confirm. No proof is on record, but I swear I’m not from this plane of existence.”

Wait, was her father claiming that he didn’t belong in this dimension?

“We don’t know for sure what Cornelius and my uncle did that day, but I remember the stark changes within your father immediately. He was able to walk, to breathe without assistance from a machine.”

“I don’t remember being sick, that’s the worst of it.” Her father interjects. “But I don’t remember much before that—maybe the sickness was cause for some kind of delirium, but it never left my mind.” He looks at his knees. “Fitz mentioned that his dad—or rather, another version of myself constructed a watch to go back in time. That was the cause of the destruction you saw.”

_So Radjerd was right._

 “When his father funded the creation of the watch, Willa Corp thought it too powerful to proceed with. He apparently was furious. His desire was what ended their existence, which explains the lad’s desperate actions.” He says worriedly. “He said the watch is unstable—I believe him now. The last thing I’d want to do is put Glade Bay in jeopardy for a selfish wish.”

“Aleck, perhaps we should stop talking about this. Cordelia looks a little green.” This time, her mother speaks the truth. 

“I’m sorry, this must be confusing for you.” Phoebe smiles weakly. “I knew you were a cousin of mine for quite some time, but I was never allowed to see you. Family politics.” Her laugh is awkward.

“I never meant for you to feel unwelcome, Phoebe.” Her mother reassures the brunette.

Cordelia’s thoughts swim with uncertainty as Phoebe talks with her mother, the urge to stand up is imminent. “Look, I just need to freshen up.” She excuses herself from the sitting room, flying up the stairs. She flings open the door, a pair of frightened blue eyes stare at her.

_Calista._

 

“What the hell are you doing in my room!?” Cordelia’s temper rises.

“I-I…” The girl stammers, dropping the notebook she’s holding.

 _“Is that my journal—”_ Cordelia curls her lip. “You better have a good reason why you’re snooping in my personal affairs.”

“Please, calm down.”

“Oh, yeah—calm down. That’s rich.” Cordelia scoffs. “Yeah, yeah, considering I’m the one who needs to see reason. But you, you’re in my room, rummaging through my things— _but I’m the one who needs to calm down.”_ Cordelia stares daggers at the taller girl.

“I know this looks bad _—okay fine—_ it’s bad." Calista whispers. 

“Jokes on you, I haven’t written in that thing in months.” Cordelia's anger dissipates slightly. “We already had one person try to steal from us, I won’t tolerate another.”

“Radjerd. He’s the one who held Aleck at gunpoint.” Calista says, gripping the zipper of her bag. “He broke in, and you’re the one who managed to gain control.”

“In a matter of speaking…?” It's not hard to figure out why Calista obtained that information. She was working for Willa Corp at the time of Radejrd's imprisonment. 

“And you two went out to Hidden Treasures last night?” Her brows raise. _“…Right?”_

“Yes, but I hardly see how that’s any business of yours.”

Relief washes over the girl’s face. _“Oh thank god, I was_ —I was hoping that you could have a night out…you looked so stressed when I saw you with Aleck. I’ll just get out of your way…”

“Like _hell_ you will.” Cordelia closes the door as she narrows her eyes, approaching Calista slowly. “You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I really can’t do that.” She squeaks.

“Oh, you can, and you will—” Cordelia freezes when Calista withdraws a pistol from her bag. Cordelia yelps, carefully stepping back.

“Please, let me leave. If I tell you, it’ll ruin everything.”

“You just made a huge mistake.” Cordelia’s about to scream, but she mutes herself when Calista’s fingers rest on the trigger.

“Just let me go. I beg you.” Calista pleads. 

“I disarmed Radjerd. Don’t think I can’t do the same to you.” Cordelia warns, but Calista’s arm stiffens. She’s not listening. “Shooting me won’t get you my family’s support.” Calista doesn’t change her stance. Cordelia assesses the situation, deliberating going for the girl’s exposed knees. She’s the one trapped in a corner.

“I said let me leave, please!”

“That’s not happening—” A knock on the door interrupts the mood, Calista lowering her gun immediately.

<Cordelia?> That’s Radjerd—how relieved she was to hear his voice. She doesn’t care how he found her room.

<Get in here!> He opens the door, gasping when he sees the gun in Calista’s hand. She drops it, but it didn’t go off. Was it even loaded?

<What the hell?!>

“Shit— _shit!”_ Calista rummages in her bag, pulling out a pocket watch. Why she didn’t go for the gun remains a mystery, but Cordelia lunges for the weapon. She aims it at Calista, but she doesn’t seem threatened—the damn thing wasn’t loaded!

<What’s going on?>

<I’m sorry, I really am.> Calista backs up, the watch tightly gripped within her fingers. <But you have to let me go. Please.> As she speaks, a blemish forms mid-air, growing bigger by the second.

<No, you can’t use that here!> Radjerd attempts to strongarm Calista, but she manages to dodge his grip. <Cordelia, grab it from her before it’s too late!>

It’s like she’s on autopilot! Cordelia manages to grab the girl by the waist, but Calista's stronger than she anticipates.

Calista jumps toward the whirlpool, knocking Cordelia off balance. <Help me grab her!>

But it’s too late—an ear-piercing screech infiltrates Cordelia's head. She can barely hold it together as she grasps her forehead in agony. Was her consciousness being ripped from her? 

Her thoughts become mush as she loses all senses. 

_Then, nothing._


	15. Chapter 15

The warmth of the sun tickles Cordelia's cheeks as she wakes up on the lawn in her front yard. Groaning unceremoniously, she lifts herself off the ground, her body is surprisingly stiff. Shit! Did she get grass stains on her dress? Cordelia inspects the garment, but to her relief, it had only a couple of scuffs—no stains to be seen. She does her best to brush the scuff marks away but it’s ineffective. _Crap._ Fogginess surrounds her thoughts as Cordelia’s baffled. How the hell did she end up outside?

 _“Oh_ _god no! You weren’t supposed to follow!”_ Cordelia hears a disgruntled voice to her right. She whips her head around to see where it’s coming from. Big doe eyes stare at her in alarm.

Calista? Her mood switches to anger. _How dare she insinuate Cordelia’s in the wrong! This is her house for crying out loud._

“Follow you were? This is my property. Just because you lulled my parents into a false sense of security doesn’t mean you can do the same to me.” Cordelia raises a finger towards the girl, pausing for a moment before she continued to speak. The horizon had a circular edge to it as if it was rounded instead of flat. Was her vision going funny? Calista follows her stare, gasping when her eyes met the oddity.

“You shouldn’t be so reckless, okay?!” Calista tightly crosses her arms. “Jumping through a rift is irresponsible unless you know what you’re doing.” She says the last part bitterly.

“What are you going on about?”  

“A rift. You know, the thing you decided to travel through to prevent me from leaving, which was a stupid thing to do if you ask me. The last thing I need is your health to be compromised.”  Calista looks at her questionably. “I thought you saw the video—wait…you don’t remember what happened, do you?”

“I remember you storming into my house…” Cordelia pauses—her thoughts catching up quickly. “I went out to Hidden Treasures—then the next morning got the call from Phoebe about you escaping…yeah, I’m not supposed to be here? You’re the one who ran away!”

“I didn’t run away from anyone! I needed to get Radjerd out of there—god, please tell me you remember him at least.”

“It’s kind of hard not to when he broke into my house.” Cordelia mumbles.

“Good, because I need you to remember him,” Calista says strictly. “It would be a disaster if he was wiped from your memory.”

“How so?”

“Even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. You don’t even remember how we got here.”

“I don’t see why you’re being cryptic, all I did was walk through that door over there.” She points to the manor doors, shocked to see they’re wooden. But she swears they were ivory before…

“Look, there’s a lot to explain. Here, I’ll bring you to the guesthouse.” Calista urges Cordelia to follow.

 _“I know where the guest house is.”_ She bats the tall girl out of the way, stepping forward with gusto. Radjerd would be there—or at least, he was supposed to be. The guesthouse was his residence for the time being.

Cordelia gasps when she’s met with a wooded patch. No, that’s not right…the guest house, it’s supposed to be right here! Panic trickles down the line of her stomach as she places both hands underneath her chest.  

“Where is it?!” Cordelia gasps. “The guesthouse, it was always here! There’s no way it could be gone.”

“Oh god…okay, Cordelia, listen. I know you don’t understand much about dimensions and time, but I need to tell you. I think we’ve been transported to the past—”  

“—Can I help you?”

Cordelia’s afraid to turn around; the voice she hears is familiar, but it sounds…off. Behind her is a tall, blonde man dressed in a gaudy best and khakis. He looks similar…but why?  

Calista gasps in horror, but Cordelia ignores her.

The teen chuckles, amusement lacing his blue eyes. “How can I be new? I’m the man of the house—well—I guess that’s not true. My birthday was last month, so that makes me officially an adult—you know, technically a man.” He smiles awkwardly, brushing his side-swept hair back with his fingers. “Now, what are you pretty ladies doing on my property? Nothing sinful, I hope.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Don’t mind my _sister,_ she had a bad fall in the woods. She’s a bit delirious.”

“No wonder she is, it’s hot as hell out here. But before I invite you both inside, I want to introduce myself first. My name’s Aleck, only son of the Firthe house.” He sticks out his hand to Cordelia, but she’s too alarmed to shake it. Aleck Firthe is her father—not an eighteen-year-old boy.

“She’s Deely, and I’m Cal. Nice to meet you.” Calista interjects, sticking her hand out to shake his. “The heat doesn’t bother me—my father’s from St. Antilla you see.”

“Ah, that explains it. Although it doesn’t seem that Deely enjoys it too much.”

“We’re _half_ sisters. Share the same mother. Shall you bring us inside, I don’t want her passing out.”

“Yes, of course. Follow me.” He turns around, gesturing forward. “And don’t think of robbing the place, because Yolanda won’t tolerate it. She may be a woman, but she can kick your butt farther than the seven seas.”

“Deely and Cal?!” Cordelia whispers harshly.

 “Did you have a better idea? And besides, my parents call me Cal or Callie, so I’m not lying!”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “Well that’s great, but I was never called Deely. It sounds like a name you’d give your cat.”

“That’s _not_ where I got it from!” Calista blushes. “Now shut up, or you’ll give us away.”

“What are you even talking about—”

“Are you ladies doing alright?” The blonde teen turns around.

“Yeah, my _sister_ is just a little woozy, that’s all.” Calista wryly smirks at Cordelia. She lowers her lids, squinting at the taller girl. She does not like this chick one bit. 

 

The teen named Aleck leads both girls into the foyer, showing them to the sitting room. Two older men dressed in black stare at the girls with great suspicion. She’s never seen these men before, but they look like they’re serious business. The old fashioned décor remains the same, which baffles her. Everything else in the manor looks off—different in some way. The family portraits once there are replaced with old photos Cordelia remembered from her childhood—just what kind of a fever dream was she having?

Aleck sits down, he gestures for the girls to do the same. He folds his hands on his lap as he stares at Cordelia curiously. “I’d love to know how the two of you managed to end up on the property. It’s well gated, and our cameras are state of the art. I know it seems much, but my father is a paranoid man.”

“So it seems…” Cordelia says under her breath.

“We took a _wrong_ turn. I didn’t mean to steer us here.” Calista laughs, springing up. “Speaking of which we really should go.”

“You can’t do that,” Aleck warns. “I saw the two of you come through a portal; I want the two of you to show me how to do it.”  

“Don’t be silly!” Calista’s voice is high pitched, batting her hand in the air. “There’s no such thing.”

“I saw it with my own eyes.” He crosses his arms stiffly. Don’t try to steer me away from this. I know other dimensions exist.”

“I can assure you, there are none. What you saw is clearly a figment of your imagination—”

The teen eyes Cordelia suspiciously. “You seem to be letting your sister do the talking here. Have anything to add?”

“No, what she’s saying is true. Dimensions aren’t real—” She stutters; an eruption of memories flood her mind. The ear-piercing screech of the portal, the horrific video sent her…she’s going to throw up. 

 “Go on?”

“My sister is right. Nothing to add.” Queasiness fills her gut. Calista looks at her with concern.

“You don’t look well, Deely.”

“It’s the heat.” Cordelia leans her head back on the ornate settee. “I can’t deal with it.”

“Right, where are my manners?” Aleck snaps his fingers; a maid hurries to his side. “Fetch these two a pitcher of water.”

“Certainly, Mr. Firthe.” She skitters off. Cordelia feels Calista’s hand on her shoulder.

“Listen, if you two manage to help me, I’ll pay you handsomely for your troubles.”

“When Deely feels better, then the three of us can talk.” Cordelia rests her hands by her sides, taking two very deep breaths. All of this was so…so unreal! There’s no way that she could be in the sitting room, in the presence of her eighteen-year-old father.  

“I know I’m asking a lot. But, I have answers that I need, and no one’s giving them to me.”

Calista arches a brow. “How so?”

“I don’t think I’m from this reality. I feel so out of place.”

“That’s a common feeling for teenagers. I wouldn’t go as far as to say you’re from a different dimension.”

“Then why are your dresses out of fashion?” Aleck leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. To Cordelia’s relief, he’s interrupted by a conveniently timed informant.

“Your father wishes to see you momentarily.”

“…Fine, but please, ensure that our guests are comfortable. Mellie has already grabbed them refreshments.”

“Mr. Firthe— _I’m_ Mellie.”

“Oh, so you are. I apologize, truly. I’ll see him right away.” He glares at the two before leaving, as the woman named Mellie politely nods before escorting him out. Yep, that man is definitely her father. Would he bring her grandfather to meet them? Cordelia only met him once before he passed away. No, something much more pressing is on her mind.

“That video Fitz showed me—his dimensions was ravaged because his _dad_ used a watch like yours. Did you do the same to mine?!”

“Of course not—this watch is safe! I’ve travelled with it a couple of times, leaving no fractures behind. I assure you, everyone back home is safe and sound.”

“Except Radjerd was witness to what happened. What if they try to find us using some defect watch?”

“That’s not going to happen, they know better, right?”

Cordelia eyes the black-haired girl. “I don’t know!?”

“Fitz would know better, I would hope.”

“You sound reluctant.”

Calista sighs, “Radjerd wasn’t supposed to meet Fitz so soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can’t say, at least not right now. What I can say is that if Radjerd decides to go back to his dimension, he’ll die. I can’t have that.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a relative of his—”

“Relax, the two of you aren’t related if that’s what you’re wondering.” She’s mildly amused. “So don’t worry, you didn’t sleep with a cousin or anything.”

“What are you talking about, I never slept with him—what the hell’s that look for?”

“No… _no!_ We need to get back, now!” Calista hops off the couch, fumbling in her bag for her watch. She pulls it out, tapping it three times before it opens. The red orb on top glistens in the sun’s rays. It looks just like the one in the picture she showed Radjerd.  

“Why are you freaking out? Are you interested in him or something?”

“God, no! But we can’t stay here—I should have considered the damn thing wasn’t charged up.”

“Put it away, he’s coming back!” Cordelia hears footsteps approaching as Calista stuffs the watch back in her bag. One of the men at the door peers his head in, glaring at Cordelia. God, he’s intimidating.

“We weren’t doing anything suspicious, I promise you!” Cordelia smiles and waves, praying he wasn’t going to inspect Calista’s bag. A gun, loaded or not would raise red flags—hell—where did she even get it anyway? Guns weren’t legal to wield in Glade Bay. Thankfully, Aleck returns just in time.

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to my father. Cornelius Firthe.”

His white hair is combed to the side, his smile creases his leathery cheeks. It’s like Cordelia is staring at a ghost.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He says with decorum. “Now, don’t think ill of me but I heard strange voices at the door. I was wondering who they were—in fact, one of you sounds exactly like Rissy.”

 “Ah, if that’s the case, may I ask these lovely ladies a favour? You see, my son’s been a bit blue since his split with Rissy. You there—you’re the spitting image of her.” He points to Calista. “May you humour this old man and go on a date with my son?”

Rissy? No, that can’t mean her mother…did they split up? Cordelia tries her best not to panic.  

Aleck’s face is beet red. “Please mind my father. He was quite taken with my ex-girlfriend.” And judging by the lingering sulk on his lips, so was he. Good, the last thing she needed was Calista ending up as her new mom.

“That won’t be necessary.” Calista blushes. “I’m a taken woman.” _By who?_ Now Cordelia’s curious.

“It’s alright—she won’t be an ex for long. I plan on winning her back.” Aleck chuckles.

Despite his weathered appearance, Cornelius Firthe manages to walk with his head high and posture straight. “I’m sorry for heading off so soon, but my pager’s going off. Trouble in paradise.” He lets out a laugh before walking off. Cordelia feels weepy-eyed. It’s nice to see him again.  

“Pay no mind with my father—he doesn’t like to mince words.” Aleck apologizes.

“From the sounds of it, neither do you.” Calista says, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did the two of you split?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Cordelia stares daggers at Calista. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind saying.” His voice wavers a little, “She found someone who better suited her needs. Damn that Blake Stratford...”

What?! Her mother couldn’t be dating _Mr. Strat_ —he’s so boring!

“What’s so good about Blake Stratford?” It takes all her willpower to keep her from addressing him as Mr. Strat.

“He’s got the flashy clothes and a motorbike. I can’t compare to that—it’s just not my way.”

“Well, you can’t just give up. Speak to her—you two have been dating since _forever!”_

“How—how did you know?”

 _“Oh, you know, newspapers.”_ Cordelia covers up her tracks.

“How about this—if we can help you win back Merise, you’ll drop this dimension travelling topic for good.”

Aleck’s pensive. Cordelia sees the confliction spread across his face. “What’s more important, a thing you _thought_ you saw, or the love of your life?”

“…Merise.” He sighs as an emotional break interrupts his voice. “I’d do anything to get her back.”

They better succeed. Her existence depends on it.  


	16. Chapter 16

Cordelia feels awkward in this sitting room. It doesn’t belong to her, but yet…no, she wasn’t going to try to reason it right now. She’s owned that she’s in the past—as hard as it is to mentally wrap her head around it. She sighs mentally; Aleck and Calista are carrying a conversation. The two sure get along well…

Cordelia’s so focused that she jumps when Cornelius re-enters the room. _That call was fast._

“Miss Deely, may I talk to you for a moment alone, if you don’t mind?” The older man’s soft blue eyes linger on hers. Cordelia surveys the room with her stare, observing the visual responses around her. It’s no surprise that alarm spreads cross both Aleck and Calista’s faces.

Her gut is relaxed. She trusts him.

“That’s fine. I’ll be back, _Cal.”_ She shoots a look at the black-haired girl in case things went awry. Calista understands, providing a short nod before Cordelia exits.

Her grandfather brings her to his study, which Cordelia immediately recognizes to be the exact room she and Radjerd crossed paths for the first time. The layout resembles her father’s workspace almost identically. He invites Cordelia to take a seat facing the cherrywood desk; she promptly sits in the ornate chair near the door.

“Pardon the sudden intrusion,” He smiles, his grin wide with glee. “But I don’t like to mince words, so I’ll get right to it. I know where you’re from.”

“Well, it’s easy to guess that my sister and I are from Glade Bay.”

“You know what I mean.” He folds his hands together, easing his elbows on the desk. He leans forward slightly, his lips curve into a frown. “I understand you don’t want to tell me, it’s a hard thing to claim. But I understand the slow of time well, my dear. I know you’re my granddaughter.”

 “How did you know?” She barely whispers.

“I’ve met you before, although you were much older than you are now.” His chuckle is similar to Aleck’s.

“How? _Why?”_

“Through the same means of travel you and Calista used.” He raises a brow at Cordelia’s surprise, then, a sudden realization hits his eyes. “Ah, maybe I shouldn’t say too much. I don’t want to change the course of the future.”

“Wait…how do you know Calista?!”

Cornelius smiles, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Then why mention any of this to me in the first place?” Cordelia watches her tone. This may have been a different version of her grandfather, but the fact of the matter is, this man still deserved respect. She can’t afford to be mouthy.  

“Because I know you can’t go home unless the watch is charged. How else am I supposed to lead on that I know about the watch unless I tell you why?”

He has a point.

“Another thing; I can’t have my son getting any strange ideas about time travel. He’s already suspicious.”

“He told me he saw me and Cal come through some kind of portal—although I can’t tell you to be sure. My mind’s still foggy.”

“Ah, so the two of you came from the same time? Interesting…” He ponders aloud, then switches the subject. “Never mind me.” Did he know something about Calista that he was purposely omitting?

“I know you can’t tell me how you met Cal, but…can I trust her?” Her grandfather’s silent, wiping his chin with the back of his folded hand. He doesn’t seem intent on telling her. She’s surprised when he opens his mouth.

“It depends on how you treat her, like anybody else really.” He grins. “Like anyone else in your family.”

“That’s incredibly vague.” She crosses her arms in displeasure.

“The future is something you don’t want to know too much about. It ruins the element of surprise.” He smiles. “Although it doesn’t hurt to know that the Firthes have a bright future ahead. You, being the prime example.” He ponders briefly. “Which leads me to this question. Why are you so far back from your time?”

“It was an accident.” She doesn’t get into specifics. “Cal accidentally teleported us here—or whatever the word may be. I don’t even know how she got her hands on the watch.”

Cornelius raises a curious brow. “Maybe you should ask her.”

“Like she’d tell me.” Cordelia sulks. “But it’s not just Cal, no one in my family tells me a damn thing…maybe it’s because they think I’m stupid.”

“Have you considered it’s not your intelligence, but your attitude that’s keeping people from distrusting you?”

Her eyes water immediately—why did that comment sting?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself—I know my limits.” She flushes, looking down at her feet. “I was never a smart person.”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen the things you’re capable of doing, Cordelia. Just…don’t neglect your family because of them.” There’s a warning to that sentence, but she’s not sure why. Was he talking about her mother? Sudden guilt floods her stomach. She doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“About the watch…” Cordelia begins, delaying her words purposely to bring him to attention. “How do you charge it?”  

“The charger is at Willa Corp. The watch you have may be too advanced, but who is to say? Unless I see it, I can’t tell you.”

Cordelia pauses. “I don’t think I could get Cal to hand it over. She’s not very trusting with me. And, I don’t think I should leave just yet. As you know, Merise is my mother—and she’s currently dating someone else according to Aleck—your son—my dad.” She’s not sure how to address her father here. Regardless, the older man seems amused by her uncertainty, but it quickly falls to seriousness when he speaks next.  

“Meddling in someone’s past is never a good idea.”

“But if I don’t intervene, I could be Blake Stratford’s _daughter!”_

“Here’s the thing. We’re still talking, which means you’re still alive. There’s no harm in aiding my son to reason, but to directly intervene could damage your chances of existing. I can understand why you’d want to help my son though, he’s always had a way with words.” He reflects fondly on the memory. “He loves Merise more than I think he loves me—which is natural for someone his age.” His laugh is nostalgic. Despite the oddness of their conversation, sitting alone with him feels like a dream she’s having. All of this feels so surreal. It’s hard to explain with words.

“Then what am I supposed to do, refuse to help?”

“No, I think it may do some good for you to meet Merise. She’s a lovely girl—or should I say, _young woman_.”

“If she’s not dating Aleck, then how do I meet her?”

Her grandfather smiles, patting her hand. “I’m close with Merise’s family. I could introduce you to her myself.”

“But if they broke up…is that wise?”

“The two were inseparable since childhood—that kind of love doesn’t die over a mere argument. Merise isn’t unreasonable.”

Clearly, he didn’t meet the older, hardened version of Merise.  

“We’ll introduce you as Deely, a niece of mine. You definitely look like a Firthe, so it’s believable.” He chuckles. “I do have one favour to ask, however. Do you mind retrieving Calista for me? There are a few words I’d like to share with her in private.” Cornelius asks kindly.

“Yeah…I can do that.” Nervousness creeps into her stomach. “But won’t… _Aleck…_ get suspicious?”  

“Let him.” He waves a hand in the air. “Not everything I do needs to be approved by my son.”

Cordelia doesn’t understand the older man’s angle, but he does as he said; it was quite nice to see her grandfather again.

 

“You’re going _where?”_ Aleck stands up in alarm. “Father, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, but I’m kindly showing Deely the trade since she’s told me about her residence.” Aleck narrows his eyes at Cordelia, a look she would get in the future. It’s his scolding face; it’s a lot less threatening coming from his teenage self.

“But you said—”

“Not here, Aleck.” He warns in a very strict tone. “It’s not appropriate where wandering ears can hear.”

“Why can’t I go?”

“These two can help me with a special task. Don’t worry, they’ll get around to helping you with Merise.”

Was this conversation truly real? She shakes her head in bewilderment. Her father’s not as charismatic as she pictured him in his younger days.

“No, I’m confused, is all…who are you two, _really?”_

“All will be revealed shortly, now come.”

Cordelia and Calista are guided out by the older man. Her stomach is tied in knots, they’re in a time they don’t belong it. The mere thought makes her woozy. She’s not sure if she’ll be able to handle this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're about to learn a bit about Willa Corp's past, and maybe, discover why the Firthes are involved with the facility. 
> 
> Stay tuned, and thanks for reading! <3


	17. Chapter 17

There was nothing Radjerd could do to stop it.

His joints are in shock, the ability to move impossible. He watches helplessly as both Cordelia and Calista fall into the void.

Then, nothing.

Radjerd finds himself on the ground, gripping the rug beneath him. He eases his fingers from the fibres, his mind is blank. Was any of this real? Did he just watch the two of them fall into nothingness? Were they dead? It didn't matter that Radjerd hadn’t known them for very long; his chest fills with worry for their safety.

A sudden thought hits him. Calista has a watch. A functional watch. Which meant she’s not from this dimension. Then where was she from? Why was she here? If she rescued him from Willa Corp, what did she know about him that he didn’t?

The instinct to run for help is strong, but Radjerd isn't sure how to proceed. This wasn't a normal circumstance. He had to tell someone, but if Aleck knew of Calista's watch, the consequences could be disastrous. He may have been a different man, but Radjerd couldn’t fully trust him. There was also Fitz. He's already going through enough. He can't bear to put his friend through more heartache.

Radjerd musters the courage to leave the room, his palm sweats against the door handle. He hadn’t realized the door was closed; maybe that’s why no one else came to their aid. Radjerd had barely heard Cordelia’s voice until he entered the room himself. He hurries downstairs to the sitting room. Merise still remains, her gaze refusing to leave her lap. Her eyes are red and swollen as if she had been crying. Radjerd's disgruntled; he can't communicate with her through normal means, she didn't understand St. Antillan. He needed to find Fitz. Radjerd turns around, leaving Merise to her thoughts. Being here didn’t do him much good.

Now, where the hell did Fitz go?

Radjerd stops the housekeeper that passes by; praying that he could understand his language. But, that wasn't the case as the man in scrubs just stares at him in confusion. Dammit.

Radjerd has an epiphany; Phoebe. How the hell could he forget about her? She's the one he should be going to. Radjerd re-routes his course, searching for the bob-haired brunette. He needed answers; now.

It takes Radjerd a bit, but he manages to find both Phoebe and Aleck outside, cordially talking on the steps of the manor. Radjerd doesn’t want to intervene, he’s nervous about how Aleck will respond. If he knew his daughter blipped out of existence; who knows what measures the older man might take to get her back. He had to talk to Phoebe alone.

<You alright?> Phoebe tilts her head up, noticing Radjerd immediately.  

<There’s something I need to tell you, but Aleck can’t be here when I do.> It’s fortunate the older man can’t understand St. Antillan. Radjerd’s still not used to it.

<Okay, now you’re worrying me.> She gets up, kindly telling Aleck she needs to address something with Radjerd alone. He respectfully gives them space, a stroke of luck— _finally._ Once Aleck leaves, Radjerd collects himself as he eases onto the steps. At least the weather was nice.  

<How long has Calista had a watch?>  

Phoebe’s face whitens.

<Please, don’t deny that she does. I saw her use it.>  

<What do you mean _you saw her use it_?> He can hear Phoebe’s voice dry out.

<Her and Cordelia got into a fight, and my guess is that Calista used the watch to flee from the scene. It was a clean fracture, and closed up soon after the two disappeared.>

<Oh _fuck! > _Phoebe tenses, soon rubbing her fingers through her hair. <Where was this?!>

<Cordelia’s room.> He answers.

<I should have never left Calista alone, especially with Cordelia. I’m a god damn idiot!>

<Why?> When he doesn’t get an adequate response, he asks, <Who is Calista?>

<My cousin…I don’t know how we’re going to get them back—using any device here might create the same effect that the watch had in your and Fitz’s reality.>

<That’s not good enough, Phoebe. She was holding a _gun_ at Cordelia.>  

Phoebe squeaks.

 _< Who is she?>_ Radjerd orders, his tone growing impatient with each second.

Phoebe’s pained as she looks away.

<Please tell me—I’m worried about Cordelia’s safety.>

<Even if Calista was out to get her, there’s nothing we can do. But I can promise you this—Calista wouldn’t harm Cordelia, I’m sure of it.>

<Not convincing.> Radjerd growls. <Give me one good reason why I should trust her, especially when I saw her with a _gun_.>

Phoebe lets out a frustrated sigh. Her brown eyes lock with his violet ones. <Do you really want to know who she is?>  

He nods, haunted by her sudden calmness. Phoebe had heard what he had said, _right?_ Maybe the woman’s in shock herself.

<…I should be honest with you.> Phoebe sighs, folding her hands together. <What I’m about to tell you is going to sound hard to believe, but I feel like you should know.> Her teeth clench together as she takes a deep breath, <Calista’s your daughter.>

Radjerd scrunches his eyebrows, <My _what? > _

<I know, I _know_.> Phoebe grimaces as she speaks. <I wouldn’t believe it either if I was in your shoes—even with what I know. But it’s confirmed, we were able to do a DNA test while you were in our facility. It’s a perfect match.>

<But that doesn’t make a lick of sense—she said she was related to—> Radjerd falls silent, the conclusion he comes to nearly knocks the wind out of him.

<…And that’s why I guarantee you that she wouldn’t lay a hand on Cordelia.> Phoebe winces. <I…I get that the two of you just met, and I can only imagine the awkwardness of it all. You wanted the truth, however…>

Radjerd shakes his head in disbelief. His gut churns with queasiness.

<Do you need proof? Aleck should have the papers.>

<…Aleck knows?>

<Yes, it’s what we were talking about before you came outside. Calista told him of her heritage when the two of you arrived last night.>

Radjerd nods but doesn’t feel his head move. This was all…so surreal.  

<If she and Cordelia are in another plane of existence, I don’t know if there’s anything we can do right now. We’ll have to wait until they return on their own.>

<…Why did she come to this time?>

<I can’t tell you the reason why she’s here. I’ve already skewed the future enough by sharing with you what I did. I hear the beach does wonders for calming the mind. Why don’t we go there for a bit; just to calm down.> Phoebe stands up, offering her out.  

Calm down, that’s rich. Phoebe didn’t just find out she was the father of an eighteen-year-old psychopath. If he didn’t see the watch in Calista’s hands, he wouldn’t have been able to believe her story. Yet, somehow, he’s able to believe Phoebe’s story.

God, _what the fuck?_

Radjerd takes Phoebe’s hand and allows her to escort him to the beachside, both of them silent on their walk. They sit on an ornate bench, Radjerd brushing back his hair as he attempts to make sense of this all. When he builds up the nerve, he asks Phoebe, <What can you tell me?>

<About Calista I reckon…well, she has a high opinion of you. I mean she risked a lot by sneaking you out of Willa Corp, did she not?> Phoebe chuckles lightly. <Not that I agree with her decision, but maybe it was for the best. It forced me to be honest with you.>

<But, you specifically told me that I couldn’t trust her. I can’t imagine you were making that up just for fun.>

<I was worried that she’d do something reckless.> Phoebe rubs her palms as she laughs wryly, <Which, I was completely right about.>

<…But Cordelia and I are from different realities—how is it possible that we had a child together?>

<Please, I’m sure I don’t need to get into the specifics of how babies are made…even though I’m not much of an expert on the matter.> A sad sigh escapes Phoebe’s lips. <I won’t lie, I kind of wish I was in your shoes.>

<Why on earth would you want to be in _my_ shoes?>

<I wanted children my whole life, but I never thought that possible when my stepson passed away. My husband’s…quite older than I am and had started a family when he was younger. When he wanted to try for a kid, I was overjoyed, but it seems that’s not in the cards for me.> She wipes the moisture from her eyes. <I never used to believe it until I married my husband, but family is _everything._ My husband and I have shared loss, and I would give anything to mend his pain. But a baby can’t replace a lost life I suppose…>

<Oh…I’m sorry to hear that.>

<It’s why I felt for Calista. She wanted to find her father so much, that she risked it all.> She stops herself, <I told you too much.>

If Calista wanted to find him, that meant he wasn’t present in her life…that hits him, _hard._

<That can’t be possible. My own dad did that to me, there’s no way I would have done the same…>

<You didn’t know about her.> Phoebe sniffs. <She made that clear. It’s why she wanted to see you, to keep you by her side. Please don’t ask me to tell you more. I don’t want to jeopardize the poor girl’s future more than I already have.>

<I understand.> As much as he could. If he had known earlier, maybe he could have tried to smooth things over. He was starting to lose his prior perception of the black-haired girl, a fondness for her replacing it. The wooziness was still there, but if she risked so much to find him, there had to be a reason for it.

<Phoebe, are you sure there’s nothing we can do?>

<I understand your eagerness, but I don’t know how we can. If our watches are unstable, our reality could end up just like yours did. Calista knows what she’s doing, this isn’t the first time she’s operated the watch.  

Radjerd sighs, Phoebe’s right.

All he could do was wait.

***

Cordelia crosses her arms, her stomach’s in knots. Her and Calista were sitting in the back of her grandfather’s limo; the older man opted to sit in the front with his driver. Apparently, this was common for him, as the two were close friends. The downside was, she was stuck in the back with Calista.

Yet, one thought can’t leave her mind; she’s going to meet her seventeen-year-old mother. Or, she’d be seventeen in a month or so…god…it’s just so disorienting. Cordelia doesn’t know how to hold it together. She glances over at Calista; her expression crestfallen. What does she have to mope about?

“Hey,” Cordelia speaks, the silence boring her. She needs a distraction or else she might puke. “So how did you end up with a watch in the first place?”

“It’s from my grandfather,” Calista says shortly.

“And he just _gave_ it to you without reservation?”

“No—well—not exactly. I borrowed it.”

Cordelia frowns. “Stole it, you mean.”

Calista shoots her a dirty look.

Cordelia shrugs, “You’re not proving me wrong.”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“Well, that’s rude.”

“That’s all you’ve been to me since the moment we met eyes,” Calista grumbles under her breath. “I can’t say I’m that surprised though, you’ve always been tiresome.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Calista’s hit a nerve. “You’re lucky that I let you stay in _my_ family’s house.”

“No, Aleck did. You would have had me thrown out.”

“Because you’re acting shifty. My father’s a gullible man, it’s not the first time he’s been taken advantage of.”

“You mistrust gullible for kindness. Not everyone’s out to get you, _Cordelia.”_

“What’s your deal?” Cordelia huffs. “Just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll drop the subject.”

Calista shakes her head. “You address me this rudely and expect I’ll share? You really don’t know how to talk to others, do you?”

Cordelia pouts. “Fine. I’m sorry if I overreacted—I’m just nervous about meeting my mom so young, you know?”

“I can only imagine how that must feel…” Calista nods with sympathy. “But, if I tell you, you have to promise me that you’ll be on my side.”

“That depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

Calista leans over, but not too far as to make herself obvious. “I know this is going to sound bonkers, but…we can’t trust Fitz.”  

“Why, because he’s from some broken dimension?”

“Fitz is going to try to rope in a bunch of you to help him fix his dimension. You’ve seen his video, right?”

“Yes, I have seen it. I think Fitz knows that it’s dangerous to return.” Judging by the terror she saw on the man’s face, it was clear he wasn’t planning to revisit his dimension.

“Right now yeah, but what will happen when he gets comfortable? He might try to convince Radjerd to help him, and that could be the last we’d see of them. Both of them will die.” Calista’s voice is heavy with emotion. “Radjerd won’t see reason because he’s Fitz’s best friend, but maybe you can get through to him.”

“You haven’t talked to him yourself?”

“I wanted to—believe me when I say that—but Fitz is someone he’d die for.”  

“Wait—how do you know this?” Cordelia asks with concern.

“I’m not from your time.” Calista sighs. “I can’t tell you more than that. But Cordelia, after we get the watch charged, I…would appreciate your help. If we prevent Fitz from going back to his dimension, I promise, you won’t hear from me again.”

“So you’re a time traveller…from the future?”

“Kind of, but it’s a bit more complicated than that—and don’t bother asking me for specifics because I’m not going to tell you.” Calista warns her.

Cordelia rolls her eyes. She’s not going to beg for information. “Very well. Did you tell my father of your origins?”

“No, but I was going to get there. I was trying to separate Radjerd and Fitz for the time being, but all I’ve seem to do was make things worse. I’ve left the two alone.” Frustration builds within the black-haired girl.

“You should have told me sooner.”

 _“Yeah, because you would have believed me.”_ Calista crosses her arms as she turns to look out the window.

“Well, maybe not right away but that would explain a lot. Yet, I’m still curious—how the hell did you convince my mother to take Radjerd home in _her_ vehicle?”

“Long story.” Calista sighs in resignation. “Maybe I’ve been a bit unreasonable with you. For someone who’s been recently exposed to time travel, you’re been coping quite well.”

“…Thanks.” Cordelia can’t help but smirk.

Calista smiles back. “When we’re at Willa Corp, I’ll see about finding a way to charge the watch.”

“And I’ll chat with Merise. Thank god Cornelius is giving me an introduction.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Hope you’re right.” Cordelia leans back in her seat. From her peripheral, she sees Calista’s arm sticking out.

“Truce?”

Cordelia smiles as she takes Calista’s hand. “Truce.”


	18. Chapter 18

Radjerd couldn’t bring himself to be around others, the news still fresh in his mind.

Calista is his _daughter._

Before they parted, Phoebe warned him not to tell Fitz about Calista, just to be on the safe side. She warned him that she didn’t want to alter things further than she already had. While Radjerd understands why, it eats at him that he can’t talk about it. His stomach churns in paranoia as he reflects on their recent interactions—did Calista tell Merise of her origins? Why else would the stoic woman allow Radjerd to come—and give him a ride back to the manor?

The memory of their first encounter burns fresh in Radjerd’s mind. _Oh no._

He…hit on his own flesh and blood. _God, how cringy._ She must think he’s scum—obviously, he wouldn’t have if he had known. Shivers ran down his neck at the thought. Thankfully, his mind didn’t linger there—but on more pressing matters. What year was she born? If Radjerd had left, was it because of a disagreement? Did him and Cordelia have a falling out? Nothing would be so big that he’d outright abandon her if he knew she was pregnant.

Does Cordelia know about Calista’s true origins? Radjerd shakes his head; probably not. He can’t see Cordelia taking it well, which he wouldn’t blame her for. It’s not like he’s taking it well either

He runs his fingers through the sides of his hair before stuffing his hands in his pockets. He leaves the beachfront, making his way back to the house.

He’s stopped by Fitz before he enters the main doors.

<Hey, sorry about leaving you by yourself. I needed to sort things out. I was looking for you, actually. Thought you might have run off until now.>

<I’m fine, have my own stuff going on.>

Fitz smiles softly, <It’s funny when I see you here in the flesh, I can’t help but smile. It’s such a relief to know you’re alive, Rad.>

<Yeah, given what you’ve gone through I can understand that—but you know—it’s kind of weird having you being all soft-eyes at me.> Radjerd chuckles, finding the humour in his friend’s behaviour. <Before you get offended, I get why. I feel the same.>

<Leave it to you to make this weird.> Fitz chuckles, patting his friend on the shoulder. <But it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.> He eases off, a foreign look crosses his face. <Are you busy? I need to sort out some thoughts, and I think you’d be the perfect sounding board.>

Radjerd was on his way to see Phoebe, but it could wait. He’d be there for his friend. <Yeah, what’s up?>

<Do you mind if we could sit out here for a while? We’ll go in the shade—looks like you’ve caught a bit of a burn.>

<A burn? No way, you know where I’m from. I take the sun like a champ.>

 _< Mhmm.>_ Fitz folds his arms as he gives Radjerd a speculative once-over. <You’ve all red around your hairline.>

<I am _not._ > He taps his forehead, the roots are sensitive to the touch. Dammit, Fitz was right. He grumbles, <Anyways, what’s on your mind?>

<Our home is destroyed.> Fitz sighs, his shoulders slump against the ivory wall. <It’s still going to be some time before I can think of anything else, unfortunately. Aleck offered me a life here, said I could live at the manor until I get some legal identification—but I don’t know…it doesn’t _feel_ right.>

<We don’t have much of a choice, do we? It’s not like we can go home…> Radjerd grips the end of his shirt. That thought he’s gotten used to, but now that Fitz is here…it changes everything. Could there be a way to undo Aleck’s mistake?

<I can’t help but wonder, do you think there’s a way we could save our reality?—you know what, never mind. That’s a suicide errand.> Fitz waves it off before fleshing out the idea. Understandable, since their home dimension looks like a deathtrap.

<I don’t think there is—> Radjerd stops himself, a sudden realization crossing his mind. If Calista has a watch that could travel through time, was it possible for her to use this very watch to stop Aleck? Radjerd keeps this thought to himself, for now. There was no sense bringing it up when she wasn’t here.

<What?>

<Nothing—I need to let that idea sit for a bit first. You’ll just make fun of me if it comes out half-baked.>

<Then that’s probably the last I’ll hear of this _idea_.> Fitz laughs, brushing his blond bangs back.

_Cheeky bastard._

Radjerd changes the subject. <You talk to Aleck much— _outside_ of business?>

<I did. It’s weird—he’s exactly like my father in every way.> Radjerd can tell it haunts the man to make the comparison. <And Merise…to see her in the flesh. It’s breathtaking. I…got to say, I never imagined I’d see my own mother again.> He’s misty-eyed, for good reason. <I’m looking forward to chatting with her.>

<She took the news well then?>

<Yeah…> Fitz frowns. <Almost too well, in fact. Not that I’m upset about it—I’m relieved—but…> It must be terribly confusing to him. If Radjerd were confronted with his father—no, it wouldn’t be the same. Radjerd would beat that man to shit—he didn’t deserve a second chance. <…Part of me wonders if she knew about me before.>

<How so?>

<It’s a hunch, but…no, it’s silly.> Fitz shakes his head. <I’m looking for something that’s not there.>

<She found out that she has a full-grown son—she’s probably in shock. I’d be.> Radjerd feels his cheeks warm from his on-the-nose comment. He bites his lip, the temptation to share the news about Calista is strong. However, it dissipates when Fitz speaks.

<Maybe. I know my father would have loved to know about Cordelia. He’s wanted a girl for as long as I can recall. Don’t think she likes me very much though—kept her distance since this morning and I haven’t seen her since. Can’t say I blame her; I’d be weirded out if I were in her shoes. Has she talked to you much?>

God, what does he say to that? Telling Fitz where Cordelia went was out of the question—but—what about their relationship? He’s not sure what he and Cordelia are. <Yeah, you could say that.>

Fitz narrows his eyes, picking up on Radjerd’s meaning immediately. <You are aware that she’s a version of me, _right? > _

<Don’t make this weird, she’s like your sister at best.>

<That doesn’t make it any better.> Fitz grimaces. <I wouldn’t let you _near_ my sister.>

<It’s a good thing she isn’t, then.> Radjerd smiles cheekily.

<Good god…> Fitz turns pale. <I don’t know what’s worse.>

<No need to be protective, I’m not a predator.>

<You’re not a predator…just a flake. Do her parents know?>

<Well, I’m _here,_ aren’t I?> Radjerd can’t explain the specifics, at least not yet. It’s better to leave Fitz up to his imagination. <Can you blame me? She’s _hot. > _

Fitz contemplates Radjerd’s words. <You’re not wrong…>

That’s not the answer he was expecting… <You can’t play for her, she’s like—your blood—or however that works!>

<For god’s sake, I wasn’t implying—I’d never! She’s a Firthe, which means I’d never consider the possibility.> It’s the first time Radjerd has seen the blond flush in a while. <Anyways, let’s head inside. Somehow, chatting with you got my appetite back.>

Radjerd sighs to himself; this was going to be one hell of an evening.

***

Fundami Entertainment.

Cordelia remembers the sign—it’s similar to the one she’s seen back home. Same with the entry-point—the elevator at the end of the parking lot. The person who greeted them at the entrance was a dowdy overworked woman who barely kept her manners in check. Even with Cornelius at the forefront—the redhead had guts, Cordelia had to admit. She was slightly disappointed that the interior was the same; her imagination didn’t do this place justice.

Calista remains by her side—if she’s not mistaken—she almost looks nervous. Why would that be, unless she has something to hide. No…Cordelia had called a truce. This means that all speculation of the black-haired girl would cease until said truce was over. It’s her turn to be nervous, her feet feeling heavy as they approach the end of the hallway near an unlabeled door.

“Are you ready to speak with Merise?”

Cordelia nods. She must be behind this door. She gulps, tightly closing her eyes before stepping inside.

A small window lights the room, where two women with black hair converse—their postures still with surprise. They look almost identical—oh god—she’s not sure which one’s her mom! Was she a twin all this time? What else doesn’t she know about her family?!

“Cornelius?” The one at the desk is flustered, while the other woman leaning against the wall stays unimpressed. “What on earth?” That voice (while younger) definitely belongs to her mother.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion, Merise.” He addresses the woman at the desk. “I know you’re in the middle of your internship—”

“—Are you kidding? _She_ got an office within moments after arrival, and what do I get?” The unimpressed woman speaks. “My cousin is spoiled rotten.”

“I’ve earned my place, _Maurie._ If you’d be so kind, I have guests. I’ll talk to you later.” She crosses her arms, lifting her brow in a dubious fashion. Angered, the woman named Maurie leaves the office in a huff, nudging Cordelia out of the way. _Rude much?_

Cornelius finds the exchange amusing. “Don’t mind Maurie Willa, she’s never been one to share responsibility—now Merise, I thought I told you girls to play nice with each other. Both of you are smart and capable, imagine how smoothly operations would run if the two of you worked together.”

“That’s not going to happen, Mr. Firthe.” Merise grumbles, her arms tightly crossed.

“She stands up, straightening out the creases in her black dress. Not that it made much difference, her lab coat sucked the shape right out of her. “Not to be rude, but who are these two? I don’t remember hearing anything about a meeting.”

“I want you to meet Cordelia, a friend of mine. This is Calista, her sister. Cordelia, in particular, is curious about your line of work.” Cordelia takes a seat, her eyes not leaving the younger version of her mother.

“Is she…? Very well, leave us.”

Cordelia shoots a look back at Calista, who waves politely to them as the two exit. God, she didn’t realize she was going to be ditched _this_ soon!

“I have to say, you’ve been wise in granting the favour of Cornelius Firthe. He’s got a soft spot for young people.” She’s a teen, but her accent is so proper. It’s jarring.

“I’m a friend of Aleck’s.” Merise’s eyes flash with a hint of jealousy—interesting since she was attempting indifference before.

“Are you now.” Her tone is bitter. “How long has that been going on for?”

“No, I’m not his girlfriend. In fact—that’s what I’ve come here to talk to you about. He misses you.”

“Aleck has no right getting strangers involved in our relationship—or rather— _past_ relationship.” She bristles, her temper rising. “If I had rights to, I’d throw you out, but Cornelius wouldn’t bring you to Willa Corp just to tell me that. You said you’re interested in this line of work. What makes you think you’re qualified?”

Even now, her mother’s tone makes her squeamish. What can she say, that she’s the future daughter of her and the man she appears to despise?

“Cornelius thought it’d do you good to talk to me; I’m just as lost as you are on that front. He cares a lot about you, from what I gather.”

“…Yes, he does.” Merise clasps her hands together. “It’s been a trying week for me, and I know he’s reached out. I feel bad for neglecting his phone calls.”

“Trying week?”

“Medical issues, nothing a doctor can’t solve in a jiffy.” Merise taps her fingers on the desk—like she’s nervous about something.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, nothing terminal…at least I hope not.” She laughs dryly.

That doesn’t put Cordelia’s worries at ease. “Would you like to…talk about it?”

“You said you’re a friend of Aleck’s, so even if I wanted to…” Tears lace her eyes. “I can’t.”

Shit. It must be serious. “That’s true, but…if I can help, in _any_ way.” God, this was awkward. The phone rings at that moment, startling them both. Merise hastily picks it up, gripping the receiver tightly. Cordelia watches as her face falls immediately, as the mute teen nods, whispering a thank you as she hangs up.

Her green eyes plead for escape as she stares at Cordelia, but the teen doesn’t shoo her out like she initially thought. Instead, she crumbles before Cordelia, using her desk as a method of support.

“What’s wrong?” Cordelia stands in alarm.

“Of all the times you can show up, it has to be now.” Merise curses. “If I send you away, you’re going to tell Cornelius I’m upset—then he’s going to ask me why, and I can’t lie to that man. He’s been better to me than my own father was.”

“What is it?”

Merise shoots an icy glare through her tears.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to him, or I’ll make your life a living hell, Cordelia.”

“What would I tell him?”

Merise buckles as she says two powerful words,

_“I’m pregnant.”_


	19. Chapter 19

Cordelia blanks. There’s no way. _It’s too soon._ Her mother’s only seventeen—Cordelia was born when she was twenty-four years old.

Hold on a minute…Did Cornelius know?! He’d have to—he told her he visited the _future._ It’s possible that she and Calista’s arrival could change things, but Merise’s pregnancy was very much established _here_ and would have happened long before their arrival. Unless… _oh god!_ She wasn’t ready to be a Stratford!

“Is it Aleck’s?” Cordelia asks aloud, immediately wishing she hadn’t. It sounds incredibly insensitive.

The teen’s incredulous stare shrinks Cordelia down in her seat. Her lip curls as her fingers turn into a tight fist. She turns her head to the side before answering, “ _Yes.”_

“Is _that_ why you left?” Cordelia asks softly.

“…It’s complicated.” Merise wipes under her eyes. “All I can say is that I have ambitions that I can’t accomplish if I’m a mother. If Aleck knew, he’d want to get married.”

“Why is that a bad thing? We’re in the age where mothers can have successful careers and families. Or, you could hire a Nanny.”

“Unacceptable.” It’s eerie how time hasn’t changed her mother’s mannerisms. “I was raised by the help, and it’s an awful feeling. My child won’t _ever_ have to deal with…that experience.” She looks at Cordelia. “You were raised by both parents—or at least I can assume by your demeanour. You don’t seem rigid.”

“Thanks?” Cordelia raises a brow. “I was raised by both, although I have a much better relationship…” With her father, she’s about to say. It seems cruel to say it out loud. “What I meant to say, is that you’re right. But I got to ask one thing. Why date a Stratford?”

“…You know more than you should.” Merise crosses her arms. “I thought it’d be a sure-fire way to sever my ties with Aleck, but apparently it's only made him more persistent. I should have expected as much. He’s not one to give up that easily.”

“I don’t get it—Aleck is a wonderful guy who would do _anything_ to ensure you’re happy. Why do you want to throw all of that away?”

“Because my life has been defined by the Firthes, ever since I met Aleck as a child. The moment we became friends, my family wanted me to marry him. The push was so strong that they encouraged me to spend summers at the manor. It’s _improper._ ” She groans. There was no point in addressing the irony in Merise’s words. “I want to see what I can do on my own, _without_ the Firthes being a direct influence. Now that I’m _confirmed_ to be carrying on the line…” She melts, burying her face in her hands. This is hard to watch.

“If you want, I can leave you be.” An act of courtesy Cordelia wishes to grant to the young woman. “I don’t want to add to your list of concerns. You have my word, I won’t tell Aleck or Cornelius.”

“Thank you, Cordelia, but…I can’t explain it, but your presence is rather comforting to me. Please, if you don’t mind, stay for a few moments. Having someone here will…help me figure out what to do.” A small grin signifies she means it. Taking solace in a stranger isn’t unheard of, yet Cordelia’s circumstance is highly unusual.

“If it’s okay…” She’s unsure. “You didn’t seem to want me here earlier.”

“I apologize. I’m not the _best_ with strangers. Or, Maurie Willa—my _cousin,_ to simplify. You had caught us in a rather _heated_ discussion. She wants to expand on Autumnshore Island, and I thought it silly that she should leave Glade Bay. But, since Maurie is _technically_ the heir, she can do what she pleases. Maybe it’d be best for her to leave town.”

“Don’t like her very much I take it.”

“I _respect_ Maurie for her dedication to Willa Corp, and its growth. Especially as a new mother.” Cordelia raises a confused brow. “I know, not relevant to our conversation.”

“It’s fine.” Cordelia rubs her fingers, awkwardness settling in. She hopes Calista is faring better than she is. “Don’t you think you should _talk_ to Aleck? He seems like someone who would want to work things out with you.”

Merise wearily sighs. “I don’t know…I’m not interested in becoming his wife right now. I’m still so young…”

Which is still baffling to Cordelia. As a teen, she was wild, impulsive and carefree. But her mother was so _mature_ and saddled with responsibility. “Blake throws caution to the wind. I have _fun_ when I’m around him. I can act my age, without worrying about the doldrums. Aleck…he wants to grow up too fast. He’s already helping his father with Firthe Hotels and Suites. He doesn’t have much time for fun.”

“But you—” She stops herself. Just because Merise had ambition, doesn’t mean she couldn’t afford to let loose once in a while. “Rather, have you told him you wanted fun?”

“It’s…how I got myself into this mess.” Her flushed face envelops her fair complexion.

_Oh…_

Cordelia withholds a grimace, “I see…”

“Aleck would have waited, but…that isn’t something I need to share. My word, I’m losing my mind.” Merise stands up. “Maybe I do need some time to digest the news alone, even if I already suspected it.”

“If you’re _sure,”_ Cordelia says with hesitance. “I’ll still be in the building for quite some time.”

“I will consider it, thank you.” Her innocent and appreciative smile gets to her. She never saw her mother look so thankful in all of her life.

***

<I know I said to wait, but I think we should talk to Aleck.> Phoebe addresses Radjerd in his room, clearly ignoring the rules of etiquette. Not that it really bothered him much, but he found it odd. Wasn’t Phoebe a part of the wealthy class? <He’s asking questions and is understandably worried about Cordelia. He’s been knocking at her door periodically since dinner.>

<Did you watch the same video I did? There’s a reason Aleck can’t know.> Radjerd warns. <He might let this reality dissolve as mine did!>  

<…Possible, but that video he saw might deter him from it. And, the Aleck from your reality lost his wife. He’d have done anything to get her back. As you can see, Merise is alive and well right here.>

<I still don’t like it.> Radjerd folds his arms as he sits on the edge of the bed.

<Listen, I can talk to Aleck and remind him of the dangers using our watch could create. Calista’s is established and hasn’t torn any fractures or rifts, but that doesn’t mean I completely trust him either. I’ve made a point to call my mother. She’ll back me up on this, and will restrict access to Willa Corp’s technologies should Aleck attempt a foul play.>

<It might be too late by then, won’t it?>

<By the time Cordelia and Calista return, my mother will be here. I guarantee you, she’s not a woman who messes around.” Phoebe scratches her chin. “I didn’t exactly ask for permission, but I’m sure the Firthes will understand.>

<Why wouldn’t they?>

<My mother and Merise have a past…> Phoebe chuckles. <But family is family, they’ll just have to come around.>

<…If you’re sure. I still don’t trust Aleck...>

<I know. If I were in your shoes I wouldn’t either. I assure you, I’ll make sure we don’t let history repeat itself.> Radjerd’s posture doesn’t ease. <Aleck has a right to know where his daughter is.>

Radjerd purses, that statement hitting closer to home than she meant it to. <Fine, I’ll go with you.>

Phoebe approaches him suddenly, her arms raising before they are lowered by her side. Was she about to hug him? He laughs to himself; he wouldn’t have minded the contact. Phoebe was a cutie. <How about I meet you downstairs—that sitting area we were all in earlier. I’ll see if I can get Aleck and Merise together. It’s best that they both know.>

<Fitz might be there too…> Radjerd trails, <I didn’t tell him about the girls.>

<It’s fine. He doesn’t have to know about your involvement.>

<It’s okay. I can tell him why I didn’t share, he’s understanding.> The quirk to his grin is crooked. He…didn’t want Fitz to know about Calista. In fact, time to himself made the idea worse. He can’t get over the fact _why_ any incarnation of himself would abandon his family.

<Your words say otherwise.>

<It’s Calista. I can’t stop thinking about her.>

<Ah, understandable.> Phoebe nods. <I’m sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to you.>

<No, I’m glad you did.> He reassures her. <The reason I’m upset is that I was abandoned by my own father. To think I’d have done the same to my own daughter is unthinkable.>

<Hey, if you were such a bad guy, do you think she’d risk it all to find you?>

<I shouldn’t have been gone in the first place. Even if things didn’t work out between Cordelia and me, I can’t see myself being the awful man my father was.>

<…It’s not your fault.> Phoebe’s downcast expression doesn’t ease his worries. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a good person. Just believe that remains the case, alright?>

<Fine, I’ll try.> Radjerd takes a deep breath, placing his hand on his abdomen. He exhales, relaxation fills his chest.

<I don’t want to sound insensitive, but now that your concerns are _mostly_ out of the way, can you help me with the Firthes?>

Radjerd nods. He needs to keep in mind that Calista may have told them who he was. He needs to be ready for the scrutiny.

Whatever it may be.

 

Aleck and Merise sit one side of the room, Fitz on the other.  

Radjerd takes his seat beside Phoebe, observing as she leads the conversation. Her posture is stiff—damn, he didn’t consider Phoebe would be unsettled by delivering the news.

She gets right into it. Radjerd has no idea what she’s saying. Or, how the others respond but all of their jaws hang open. Damn, maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t grasp Weltish. Fitz’s face morphs into fear; Radjerd’s chest pangs for his friend. After all he’s seen, he can’t blame Fitz for that reaction. Phoebe flinches as Fitz raises his voice; Merise stands to calm him, but he’s having none of it.

His green eyes lock with Radjerd’s, <Does Calista have long black hair?>

Radjerd nods, failing to understand Fitz’s point.

He bristles, <You can’t trust her. She’s family, so they’re not going to listen but _you_ can. Calista cannot be trusted—at _all! > _

<What are you saying?> Radjerd’s heart races as his stomach drops. This would be different if she was a stranger, but she is his _daughter._

Fitz pleads for Radjerd to listen, <Calista will sabotage _everything. > _


	20. Chapter 20

<What are you saying?> Radjerd asks, uncertain if he wants to continue this conversation around Phoebe. <Fitz, can we talk in private about this? I might need to explain things to you before you carry on with whatever you’re about to say.>

<Why are you defensive?> Fitz looks apprehensive. <Please tell me you’re not interested in _her_ too.>

<I assure you, it’s nothing of the sort.>

Radjerd looks to Phoebe, who side-eyes him as she’s talking to Merise. She gives him a quick nod, hopefully coming up with a good excuse to leave—they were leaving right in the middle of a conversation, after all.

Radjerd stands up, waiting for Fitz to follow his lead. The blond sighs before rising, his knees crack as he straightens his legs.

<Very well, the sitting room upstairs shall do. I’m glad that’s still there.> There’s slight resentment to his voice that Radjerd catches. <But I warn you, whatever charms she pulled on you aren’t to be taken lightly.> Radjerd and Fitz speed-walk to the sitting room, entering swiftly. Fitz holds back until Radjerd sits down, closing the door behind them.

<I know of Calista by name primarily because of Phoebe, and that she’s here at the manor—or rather, was here. I wanted to confront her myself, but I was going to wait until the right moment. I didn’t want to say anything to alert the family until they trusted me. Seems I was too late and she took off with Cordelia.>  

<It was an accident. I saw her in Cordelia’s room, and—> He stops, apprehensive to continue. Did he want to throw his own daughter under the bus like this? If he wanted answers, he’s afraid he had to. <She and Cordelia brawled before Calista panicked, and used the watch to escape. Cordelia grabbed onto her and the next thing I knew, they blipped out of existence.>

<I should have known she’d come with her own watch.> Fitz whispers. <It’s obvious, but a detail I clearly missed.>

<Are you going to tell me why I can’t trust her?>

<Not yet. I want to see why you carry a torch for her. I’m not unreasonable, even if it seemed so minutes ago. I was a bit…spooked, is all. Can’t say I’m in the clear as of yet, although if she brings Cordelia back in one piece, then I might have second thoughts.>

<She won’t harm Cordelia.> Radjerd assures her. His heart pounds as he opens his mouth, <Because she’s Calista’s mother.>

 _< So that’s what he meant by family.>_ Fitz says aloud. <I was wondering how she was a Firthe. If she’s Cordelia’s daughter, then why kidnap her own mother?>

<As I said, it was an accident.>

<I’m not entirely sold on that. Maybe she was trying to protect Cordelia from the dangers she’s going to impose.>

<What dangers?>

<I’ll tell you once you’re finished defending her. What are you leaving out?> Fitz crosses his arms as he leans back in his seat. There was no fooling him.

<God, I can’t believe I’m even telling you this—based on Phoebe’s word alone. Apparently, she has the paperwork that proves her claim but I haven’t even seen the results yet—>

<Out with it.> Fitz narrows his eyes and he gestures with his hand.

He sighs reluctantly. <Calista’s my daughter.>

Fitz chuckles, <Okay, now _that’s_ hard to believe.>

<And why’s that? She’s got dark hair and stands only inches below me. I’d say she’s about six feet like my own mother was.> Radjerd frowns.

<I’m not trying to insult you, but it seems rather fictitious if you ask me.> The smile is wiped off of his face instantly. <It makes sense why you trust her if you think she’s your child. Even if that possibility seems farfetched.>

<And why’s that?>

<If Cordelia is supposed to be some variant of myself—I can’t say I’d want to breed with you.>

Radjerd grumbles, <That’s not—never mind. Your jokes were never funny.>

<It’s not a joke. _I_ wouldn’t.>

< _Regardless,_ now that you know why I “carry a torch for Calista”, tell me why you say I should be cautious of her.>

<…While I was in our realm, I found documents in my father’s office, stuffed behind some books. I was searching for anything that related to the watch, but instead, I found a file that was dedicated to a girl. There was no name, but pictures of her were there—she was labelled as a ruiner of dimensions, and to be wary of her. I didn’t keep the documents, as I had to vacate the manor after you disappeared. The fracture swallowed my home, and father’s body alongside it.>

Radjerd keeps silent to keep respects for his friend. Why was there a file in his father’s office about Calista? He thought something like that would be stationed at Willa Corp? Maybe the ex-employee who was working for Aleck brought it to him out of worry or concern? What’s got him worried is that Fitz clearly believed this document.

<It makes things complicated that she’s your daughter—and listen to me when I tell you, _I understand—_ but if she’s anything like my father, we have to be careful. If she does return, I suggest putting her in custody until we can get more out of her. I do want to give her the benefit of the doubt, for your sake.>

<I’m curious as to put the file there.> Radjerd scratches his chin. <Was there anyone else in your family that was obsessed with dimensions like your father was?>

<My grandfather Cornelius, but he’s long since passed.>

Radjerd frowns. None of this was making sense; Phoebe said that Calista came back to find Radjerd. Now that she did, her mission was completed—or so he thought. Why would there be a warning file on her in _his_ dimension? Cordelia didn’t even exist! Unless…she isn’t always the mother.

<Do you know why she came here?>

<Phoebe said it was to find me, but that’s all she’ll say.>

<We might have to talk to Phoebe and get the truth out of her. It could be the difference between surviving, or dying.> Fitz sticks his hands in his pockets. <We’ll leave Aleck and Merise out of this.>

Radjerd observes Fitz’s slumped posture. Mentioning the names of those he thought dead—never mind the fact that they were his parents—must be tolling on him.

<I know hardly any time has passed, but it might do you good to think of them as your parents.>

Fitz shoots him a dirty look.

<I know, it sounds insensitive. But the sooner you do, the better. Like it or not, we’re probably stuck here.> Radjerd didn’t want to think the possibility, but his home was disintegrated by now. Surely. The foolish notion that he and Fitz could go home…it was just that, a foolish notion.

Radjerd sighs. He hopes that wherever Cordelia and Calista were, that they’re safe. They’re the only family he has left.  

***

Cordelia leaves Merise’s office. She didn’t want to, but given the amount of stress that the teen was under, it was only fair that the girl has space to breathe. She needed it too—to imagine her own mother was pregnant at seventeen. She knows the baby wouldn’t be her. Which meant, Cordelia might have had a sibling out there that she didn’t know. Why does the thought bring her to tears—this wasn’t like her at all. She leans her head against the brick wall, taking a long, deep breath. Her gut quivers with nerves as she places a hand below her ribcage. Everything…is catching up to her. Cordelia does her best to calm down.

She has to find Calista.

Cordelia leaves the hall. She feels silly not knowing where to go next. It’s jarring, almost. She had explored this facility before, yet this floor was different. She didn’t know where Calista was, either. Cordelia makes her way to the elevator, bracing herself before she enters. She surveys the keys, pressing the one her gut told her to.

B3.

Down she goes, the jerkiness of the contraption frightens her. Elevators weren’t scary to her, but when they jerk as solid as this one did—it sends her on edge. She didn’t need that right now. Cordelia breathes a sigh of relief when she reaches the floor, quick to step out of the elevator before it decided to fall into the abyss beneath her. Why did her imagination have to act up when it came to elevators…?

Now, why would Calista be in a place _this_ dank? It almost looks like a jail cell down here. It’s cold, too. A chill shoots up her arm when the lights flicker above her. If the power cut the minute she walked into this hall, she swears to god! Cordelia walks ahead, her pace quickening when she hears a noise. It’s muffled, but it’s there. Cordelia heads to the door, pressing her ear against the metal. She jerks back when the door bangs with ferocity—the disgruntled grunt all but familiar to her.

_Calista?_

Cordelia knocks on the door. “Is anyone in there?”

“Cordelia?! Thank god it’s you! You have to let me out—we have to go back home _now!”_

“But I’m not done with Merise!”

“We _will_ both be done for if you can’t get me out of here!” Calista yells through the door.

“Who locked you in here?”

 _“For fuck’s sakes, I’ll update you later, just unlock the damn door!”_  Cordelia curls her lip but does as she says. Rattling the handle doesn’t help—she sees the keycard handle on the side. Grimacing, Cordelia takes off the heel of her shoe, smacking it against the side of the card holder. It takes three tries before it loosens. Hitting it again, she unhinges the contraption, but it’s still no good. Hanging only by the wires, she wraps her fingers around the cardholder, yanking it out of the wall. She hears a click, despite the contraption barely moving. The light no longer shines red, dulling to a grey emptiness, as she sees Calista open the door. She pulls Cordelia into the room, shutting the door quickly behind her.

“We don’t have much juice left, and I barely got a charge before I was thrown in here. It might be enough to get us out before he comes back.”

“Who is _he?”_ Cordelia backs up when Calista pulls the watch from her chest.

“They took everything else, but they refused to reach down my shirt.” She smirks before activating the watch. The door flings open before the portal fully generates, Cornelius staring at both of them with a gaping expression.

“Stay away from him, he’s the one who had them lock me up!” Calista growls.

Cordelia’s heart pangs; there’s no way he could have done such a thing! This man was the gentlest soul she’s met in her entire family! Sadness laces the man’s tired blue eyes as he looks on in surprise.

“Cordelia, _please._ Don’t go back with Calista—I can take you home instead. She’ll put the entire future in jeopardy if we let her go.”

“I…I don’t understand.” Cordelia backs up, her eyes vibrating with both confusion and fear.

“Some people shouldn’t be born, for they bring great destruction.” Cornelius says cooly, “It’s cruel, but if I don’t stop it—then how can I call myself a man of justice.”

“You mean Calista?! What has she done?”

“It’s not fair to burden you with such knowledge,” he says as he calmly takes a pistol from his pocket—pointing it at the black haired girl. Cordelia attempts to speak, but a squeak comes out. “Don’t worry, I won’t shoot if I don’t have to. Calista, I need both of you to stay here until your window has passed. Once it has, you have my word that I’ll let Cordelia leave.”

Tears form in Calista’s eyes as she spits, “I should have figured that’s why you brought us here. You were way too helpful.”

“There’s always one radical in every dimension. It’s a shame I visited Aleck before it was too late.”

Cordelia references the video immediately, was he talking about… _Fitz’s father Aleck?_ God…just _who_ was she dealing with?

“Please, I don’t want to disappear.” Calista pleads with mercy. “I didn’t mean to cause harm, I only wanted to meet my dad—that’s all!”

“You’re going to alter the past to get what you want, but it won’t work. You’ll put the entire fabric of reality at risk. Just like my foolish son did before you.”

“It won’t be like that this time—I promise! It’s like I said before—I’ll tell them the truth!”

“You’ll only tell them what benefits you most, I’ve seen it happen.” Cornelius sighs, emotion glinting in his eye. “You’ll be putting the Core Dimension at risk. If you do that, all threads will be affected. This is my last chance to stop you.”

“Please, put the gun down. You’re freaking us out!” Cordelia speaks up. “You’re freaking _me_ out!”

“It’s okay, Cordelia. I’ll let you leave. You don’t need to see this.”

“See what? You just said you wouldn’t shoot!”

“If she cooperates—but she’s clearly disillusioned with grandiose thoughts of her father. I can’t blame her—my own was charming as well.” He wipes his nose, keeping the pistol right on target. Cordelia _knew_ there was something up with the girl, but to go _this_ far? She disarmed Radjerd—maybe she could do the same to her grandfather. Mustering up what courage she had left, Cordelia goes for the knees; his reaction time fails as she manages to maneuver the gun out of his hand, pointing it at his head. She didn’t expect it to be this easy.

“I’m sick and tired of secrets. Now, one of you is going to explain what’s going on before I lose my damn head!”

The older man grunts, apathetic to his situation other than his bruised kneecaps. “I didn’t want to tell you any of this, Cordelia. I wanted to spare you from this awful truth, for I’ve had to face it myself—for my own son was just that—a murderer. Calista is your daughter, and she’ll do the very same thing _he_ has done.”

Calista lets out a wail as she covers her face, her form hunches over in agony. That…was impossible…right? No—it’s not. She visited her very own mother only minutes before. _No, it’s not true. It’s just a diversion._

“I never wanted to bring this pain onto you, you were always my favourite.” He frowns as he stands up, his balance wobbly. “If you stay here for a few more days, Calista will cease to exist. Her window will expire, and you can be free to go home. Until then, it’s best if we leave her here. But I can’t in good conscience—”

Cordelia cocks the gun, backing up as she instructs to Calista, “Ready the portal—or whatever it’s called—now!” She keeps her aim steady on her grandfather. Tears form in her eyes as her finger leans on the trigger. “Let us go…” Her heart rips in two when she sees his face fall. “I don’t know if I believe any of this, but hell if I’ll have you kill an innocent person without reason. Maybe some psycho version of her did some bad shit, but we don’t know what _this Calista_ will do!”

“Cordelia—I thought the same thing—it’s why I thought replacing your father was enough—”

The deafening sound returns, Cordelia’s hands immediately grip the side of her ears as she struggles with the pain. The pistol falls to the floor, a loud bang happens before she sees her grandfather collapse. She lets out a muted gasp before feeling a strong tug on her waist. If they left him like this, he’d die.

She’d never forgive herself for this.


	21. Chapter 21

Cordelia gasps as she feels the moist, grassy lawn beneath her. Unfamiliar arms keep her secure as she glances around—long black hair tickles her cheek. She’s in Calista’s lap. Her legs feel itchy against the wet grass blades, picking up on a dew-like scent.

It’s morning.

“That was something, wasn’t it? I’m thankful that the watch had enough power. I was _pretty worried_ there.” She lets out a weak chuckle.

“You’re telling me,” Cordelia grumbles as she eases off of the girl. She doesn’t notice Calista’s worried brows.

“I’m sorry…that you had to find out this way.”

Cordelia’s teeth clench when vivid thoughts of her grandfather fill her head. Her eyes trickle with moisture as she stands up, attempting to keep her balance. Calista goes to help her but Cordelia swats her arm away.

“My grandfather wanted to kill you,” Cordelia says calmly, despite feeling trickles of betrayal. She decided to trust Calista for half a day, but that went to hell rather quickly. “Why?”

“I know you don’t know me very well, but…” She says with distrust to her voice. “But please, believe me when I tell you I don’t know why Cornelius thinks I’m going to destroy an entire dimension—I’d never do such a thing!”

“I…don’t know what to believe right now, okay?” She’s exhausted and emotionally drained. Deserved or not, she could have killed her very own grandfather—that’s not something she can stomach easily. “Are we back in _my_ proper time?”  

“…Yes.” Calista lowers her head. “I…want to talk about who I am.”

Cornelius said Calista was her daughter—she believed it at the moment—or at least she thinks she did—but now? The lines between fiction and reality are blurred. “I…don’t think I can.”

“Great.” Cordelia hears Calista whisper. “So I’m as good as dead, then.”

“And what am I supposed to do? I don’t even understand what that means!” Cordelia yells out of frustration. “Besides the fact that my _daughter_ is a danger to—I don’t even know anymore.”  

“I get that this is bizarre, but…I’m trying my best. I came back to find someone—that’s all.”

“Well _apparently,_ that’s not all you’re here to do. So are you going to tell me, or what?”

“What am I supposed to say? I don’t even understand why I was thrown in that stinky place!” Calista growls, “I was lead to believe I could find a charger for the watch—turns out that they have one of their own just like mine. Which means that there’s one here somewhere and you’ve been lied to. I’ve done _nothing_ wrong.” She’s on the verge of tears. “Listen, if I didn’t have to meet you—I wouldn’t have. But here I am!”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’m not stupid, I know you don’t like me. Don’t feel too bad about it, I’ve learned that I don’t like _you_ very much either.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “At least we have that in common—I wouldn’t have raised such a spiteful kid.”

Calista grits her teeth in response, “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you? I can see that hasn’t changed.”

“What did you say?!”

“Wow, you heard me for once,” Calista says mockingly. “That’s a nice change.”

That little bitch. “Try talking like that again and I’ll dig your ass into the ground.”  

“I’d like to see you try,” Standing five inches above her, Calista smirks. “I know how to defend myself.”

Cordelia lunges for the girl, expecting to scratch Calista’s arm. Instead, her arm bends backwards as she lets out a wail, collapsing to the ground. Ow, _that fucking hurt!_

“Oh my god—I didn’t mean to actually hurt you! Shit, I’m sorry!”

Cordelia’s not sure what she’s blind sighted by first, her near-dislocated arm or Calista’s sudden apology. With her knees in the dirt, she wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

“Ok listen I’m not trying to stir shit, I promise. I just want you to hear me out. I didn’t want to hurt you but—god—this is just so messed up. I know you’re not the same person as _her._ There’s no way you could be.” Her throat catches, “Look, I just want to live, okay? Even if you don’t want me—existing is better than not at all! I should be thanking you, not attacking you!”

“I don’t know why I shot him.” She couldn’t hold back her tears. She braces an arm out before letting out a choked sob. “That man was nothing but good to me.”

“I don’t think he’s dead,” Calista says with caution.

“I saw him fall to the ground.”

“You saved my life.”

“Hardly, if you’re to _expire_ in a matter of days, you might just—well—”

“Disappear? Yeah, we went over that.”

“Sorry.”

Calista helps Cordelia off of the ground. “Can we start again, _please?_ I don’t want you to remember me like this.”

Even if Calista was full of it, Cordelia didn’t have any energy left to be hostile.

“Fine. We’ll talk to my father once he wakes up. We can learn more about the watch he’s been hiding from us.”

“He’ll have the documentation you need—to prove I’m your kid.” Calista fumbles awkwardly. “When he does, I’ll explain what I need from you.”

Cordelia gulps,

She doesn’t like the sound of that.

 

Calista and Cordelia separated at the door as the blonde walked to her room. It’s nice to see that her things were cleaned up since the struggle. Cordelia sees her phone resting on the vanity table. A little purple light flashes—a text message from Noralyn? Quickly, she picks up her phone and checks the time. Six AM. She opens the messages one by one.

_Oh my god, are you okay?! Please call._

_Please…I’m worried about you._

_Cordelia, please—answer me and let me know you’re okay…please._

_I’m contacting your dad._

_Ok so he says you’re on a trip—must have left your phone. Please text me when you return._

A _trip?_ She had been gone for maybe half a day at most…no, she wasn’t. Cordelia looks at the dates of each text. They spanned across four days.

Noralyn hadn’t texted her before she left…it must have been that article. 

Cordelia groans—she’s in no position to text. Of course, this is the time that Noralyn had to spam her phone.   

She couldn’t explain that her maybe-daughter from the _future_ brought her to meet her seventeen-year-old mother—who was pregnant with a child that would logically be her older sibling.

How does one even begin to process all of this?!

Cordelia wants to stay hauled in her room, but her gut tells her otherwise. When it’s time, she needs to address her mother.

First and foremost.

A sharp knock interrupts Cordelia’s thoughts; her parents weren’t going to be up this early. Their tea time was at eight. She opens the door, surprised to see both Fitz and Radjerd staring at her. Calista’s warning filters through her mind—but is swiftly booted out when Radjerd scoops her into a hug, catching both the Firthes off-guard. It’s unexpected, but her body lights up from the contact.  

<I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.>

<It’s fine. As you can see, I’m alive and well.> Cordelia feels constricted by his arms. It’s hard not to blush at the contact, especially with an audience.

<Don’t mind him, he can be over the top.> Fitz rolls his eyes as he pulls out the chair to her vanity, brushing off the seat before he sits. <Now Radjerd, please let her go. I didn’t wake you so you would crush her organs.>

<Am I hurting you?> He breaks away, concern lacing his stare. <I’m sorry—I was so worried after what happened.>

<I’m fine—it’s alright.> Cordelia smiles softly before she sits on her bed. Radjerd chooses to sit next to her—her heart pounds against her chest. Why did he have to be so close—and in front of Fitz of all people? <But…what do I owe the _pleasure_ of the two of you bursting in here like this?> She decides to stick to Radjerd’s tongue.

<It’s about Calista.>

 _< We talked about this,> _Radjerd sports an aggressive tone.

<She needs to know.>

<It’s too soon.>

<For fuck’s sake—I’m not putting up with this backwards and forewords shit again.> Cordelia stands up in frustration. <Either the two of you stop talking in code or get the hell out of my room.>

<I was attempting to, but Radjerd feels it best to keep you misinformed.>

<I never said that!> Radjerd narrows his eyes before letting out a frustrated sigh. He turns to Cordelia, she notices his demeanour change.

<This is hard to admit—damn—I’m still getting my head around the mere thought.> He pauses, then turning to Fitz. <Can I have some privacy with her, please?>

<Very well.> Fitz gets up, leaving Cordelia alone with the man.

<It’s what I wanted, but Fitz insisted that he tag along…> Radjerd mutters before he asks, <Do you know about Calista?>

That’s a loaded question. What did he want to know, that she was apparently a scourge to dimensions themselves, or that she was her daughter—or maybe it’s because of Cordelia’s parentage that she released this hell-spawn upon the world?

<I know _some_ things.> Cordelia looks away. <Although they’re all pretty nonsensical.>

Radjerd sighs, <Apparently, she’s dangerous. Can you believe it?>

<Not really—although I keep getting told that. Was that all?>

<…Yeah.>

Cordelia doesn’t believe him. <That doesn’t seem to be a reason to kick Fitz out.>

<I…didn’t want him here for this. When you disappeared, I couldn’t stop worrying. Yeah, we just met but…> He pauses, getting visibly more uncomfortable. <I want to give this a shot—you and I, that is.>

<O…kay?> Cordelia doesn’t mean to sound incredulous. It does catch her by surprise, however. <Do you mean, like another date—or—>

<Yes, but I’m seriously interested in getting to know you. I know I know, we don’t know each other very well but I think you’re great—more than great. Your family’s been nice to me, and I feel like I should stay—if you want me too, that is.>

This is sudden—suspicious, even. He’s not telling her the full story. But, maybe it’s what she needs—a date with a man she finds compellingly handsome.

<Fine. But on one condition. You tell me what you were _supposed_ to.>

<…I don’t think that I can. It’s a _lot_ to take in.>

He was talking to the woman who had just travelled through time.

<Try me.>

He grimaces, <What makes this hard, is that Calista…she’s…look, I can’t in good conscience tell you. Forgive me, but I just can’t.>

Well, she can understand that feeling. Both her grandfather and Calista both claimed that she was Cordelia’s offspring—which she wasn’t sure she believed—even with everything that happened.

Even with Calista’s obligations. She didn’t want to talk about that, either.

<Okay, you’re lucky you’re cute. Or else you wouldn’t be getting a free pass.>

Radjerd chuckles, <So honest, I like it.>

She glowers. <So, you’re supposed to tell me that you and Fitz are here to tell me of Calista’s evildoings? Because I’ve heard it all before.>

<From who?>

<Someone I met in the past.> She calmly states.

<You _time_ travelled?>

<Correction—Calista time-travelled. I did against my own will.> She clears her throat. <I was also warned that Fitz isn’t to be trusted either.>

<You were misinformed—I trust Fitz with my life.>

<You shouldn’t is all I’m saying—and besides—what has he done for you that makes you so loyal?>

<He’s my best friend—don’t throw accusations around that you can’t back up.>

…He’s right. Cordelia only had Calista’s word to take—it might be worth talking to her some more—even with the awkward start they had.

Could any of this be resolved?


	22. Chapter 22

Fitz comes in, his stare lingers on Cordelia. He doesn’t seem impressed.  

<I wasn’t finished.> Radjerd growls as he looks at his friend.

<You’ve had enough time. I just saw Calista—acting as dodgy as ever…>

<Maybe because you’re not to be trusted.> Cordelia crosses her arms.

<Excuse me?> It’s as if Fitz isn’t used to being challenged. Even though Cordelia could relate, she doesn’t sympathize.

<That’s a lot of accusations for something you can’t back up.> Cordelia mimics Radjerd’s words with her own flavour. She doesn’t catch the dark-haired man’s immediate blush.

<Cordelia, I don’t intend to fight with you. I only want you to hear me out. I assume Radjerd didn’t get very far if you’re still defending her.>

<Defending Calista? I have every right to—yeah, she might be a bit shifty but what of it? She’s done nothing wrong to me yet, and I don’t suspect she will.>

<What gives you those grounds?> Fits says with narrowed eyes. <My father had papers on her—how else would you explain my reasoning?>

<I don’t see them in your hands,> Cordelia lifts a brow. <Unless you mean to tell me that I’m supposed to believe on your word alone.>

<She pulled you from this dimension—Radjerd said he saw it with his own eyes, so you can’t deny it. Where did she take you?>

Cordelia grits her teeth. <It’s none of your business.>

Fitz contemplates before he speaks again, <You’re right…I’m acting poorly. I should present you with the evidence first—which I’m afraid I don’t have much of. If you do trust her, Cordelia, can I ask you why you do?>

Cordelia strokes her fingers nervously. Did she want to tell Fitz? Radjerd was in the room—would he look at her differently if he knew she had a child—even if she was full grown? If she says it now, maybe Fitz will listen to reason—however reasonable she could be with this subject. She hardly understands it.

<I can’t tell you how I know this, but I do. Like you, I’m asking you to trust me on my word alone—because even if I don’t believe it myself, my gut tells me that it’s true.> She closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. <Calista’s my daughter.> Her cheeks burn as her chest tightens. This sounds _ludicrous_ to say in person…what the hell was she thinking?

She’s shocked when Fitz’s face doesn’t change. She can’t bring herself to look at Radjerd.

<…I see, she told you this then?>

<She did.>

<That’s peculiar. Why was that?>

<I can’t say—especially if you have it out for her. I don’t understand the logic behind any of this, but all I know is—what I experienced, it _is_ possible that she’s telling the truth. She would have nothing to gain by destroying any dimension—she’s only looking for her father. I believe what she says.> It’s baffling because did Cordelia _really?_ Could she, even though no tests confirmed it? She planned to talk with her parents as soon as she could—before she was essentially ambushed by both Fitz and Radjerd. Her height and hair colour weren’t _impossible,_ her own mother sports both a tall frame and as she saw, the woman had dark hair in her youth, but it wasn’t as thick as Calista’s. Dare she say her hair was almost…St. Antillan.

She looks at Radjerd briefly, fear striking her core.

_No. There’s no way._

Cordelia’s not even going to consider the possibility. Except…Radjerd going to mention something about Calista—then immediately backed out of it. God…she doesn’t want to ask, but now’s the perfect time to.  

Cordelia stares at Radjerd, her eyes examining his reaction, <What were you going to say about Calista?>

A nervous laugh escapes him, <Not much since you already seem to know a lot about her. Figures, given that she pulled you from what you thought was logically possible—>

<Radjerd, _please._ Enough beating around the bush. Either you tell her, or I will.> Fitz impatiently growls.  

<That isn’t fair—> He cuts in, his voice heightened out of nerves. With a reluctant sigh, he continues, <It’s as you said, Calista was looking for her dad. It’s why I’m here at the manor. I didn’t want to tell you, but it seems you already knew. To set the record straight, I wanted to date you _before_ I knew about any of this. I swear.>

_That’s what he’s worried about?_

<Yet you still asked me. Why?>

<We owe it to the girl to give it a shot, right?>

He says it earnestly, but that isn’t the answer she wants to hear. Cordelia can’t think about the logistics for too long, she can barely hold it together as is! She needs to direct the conversation elsewhere before she panics. <How long did you know?>

<Calista never told me personally. I found out from Phoebe days ago—she didn’t want to tell me but when I told her what had happened to you, Phoebe caved. She assured me that Calista wouldn’t hurt you, because you were her mother. It surprised me too, to be honest.>

<What do you mean by days? I was gone for an afternoon at most.>

<Three days passed since you went missing.>

<You’re serious!?> Cordelia feels a mixture of apprehension, sickness and anger swirl inside her. There’s still so much she didn’t know. She’s not ready to face any of it.

<I wouldn’t lie about this.> Radjerd’s eyebrows lower. <I’m just as confused as you are. Phoebe told me that Calista left her own time to look for her father—but that means I wasn’t there. That haunts me—my own father abandoned me as a kid…to think I’d do the same to Calista. When I heard the two of you came back, I got scared. I can’t even approach her—I’m too ashamed with myself to try.>

Cordelia’s unnerved by how unaffected Fitz seems with all of this. Radjerd shooed him out for a date proposal, but allows him here for this? She doesn’t understand their dynamic—which is why she needs to keep an eye on the blond.

<Cordelia, I have nothing against the girl personally. I’m more than willing to listen to what she has to say. Don’t expect me to trust her until she gives me a reason to.>

<You could ease up on her man, she’s my flesh and blood.>

<Which is _exactly_ why I can’t let my guard down—and neither should the two of you.>

Cordelia feels the truth to Fitz’s words, but she chooses to ignore it. For the briefest of moments, it felt nice that she wasn’t dealing with the Calista situation alone.

<If I can get Calista to talk to you, do you promise to let off until you hear her out?>

<If you can, then certainly. Just don’t let her relation to the both of you cloud your judgement.> Fitz sighs, <I’ve misjudged my timing on the matter. I’ll do the right thing and leave the two of you to discuss her. You have my word that I won’t seek Calista out personally—I’ll be retiring to my room.> He takes his leave, Cordelia awkwardly takes her seat on the bed.

It’s hard to look at him.

A tense air hangs between them as both choose to remain silent. A shared daughter would do that to anyone, Cordelia supposes. At least she’s trying to be reasonable.

Radjerd breaks the silence first, <Fitz is a good man. He wouldn’t say something based on a hunch.>

<But he said if I still trusted Calista after talking to you, that’d imply that you don’t.>

<I _want_ to.> He lowers his head. <He’s right about her behaviour—it’s completely shifty. She stole a time-travelling watch, broke me out of Willa Corp, and betrayed Phoebe’s trust—someone that she previously confided in.>

<Phoebe doesn’t trust Calista?> She briefly remembers their phone call, thinking about it, Phoebe did seem distrustful of the teen.

<We can iron things out when we speak to her. I’ll tell her I know who she is, and she’ll admit why she travelled to the past.>

<If she decides to.> Cordelia sighs, <Although I expect why she did. It’s because I was a shitty mother—keeping up with the Firthe tradition. I was so abhorrently bad that she risked her behind to find _you._ >

<Oh…> Cordelia jumps when he places his warm hand over hers. <We’ll just have to make sure she’s got all the support she needs.> Her heart slams against her chest. Embarrassment seeps through her being. _Why did he have to say that so tenderly!?_

<Am I making you uncomfortable?> He raises a concerned brow.

<A little.> Cordelia sheepishly admits. <Sorry, I know you’re trying to help.>

Radjerd flashes a confident grin. She knows it’s fake, but appreciates it nonetheless.

<I should find Calista. I don’t want her and Fitz to stew too long before they jump to their own conclusions.>

She doesn’t expect Radjerd to wrap his arms around her. His embrace is warm; comfortable. It gives her the illusion that this all might work. <I appreciate that you’re as grounded as you are. I can barely hold my shit together.>

 _Wow, he had no idea._ However, Cordelia smiles. <Glad to know I’m not the only one in this mess.> She pats his back, hinting at him to let go. Thankfully, he does. <I’ll do my best to convince her. In the meantime, try to soften up Fitz.>

<I’ll do my best.> He nods graciously.

Cordelia waits for Radjerd to leave her room before she closes the door behind her.

Now, for the real challenge.

 

Cordelia heads downstairs to the guest quarters. There’s no way that her parents wouldn’t put their own granddaughter in the finest guest room. Taking the door to the right, she knocks, unsurprised by the silent greeting she receives. It’s likely that Calista thinks she’s Fitz. Or, would the man knock so politely?

“It’s me…can we talk?” Cordelia understands her name doesn’t hold much weight. She hears the click of the lock before opening. She steps back in shock

It’s her mother.

She invites Cordelia into the room. “Forgive me for not checking in earlier. I’m glad you’re safe.” Her eyes are as tired as her smile is genuine. “How are you feeling?” The telling tone in her voice means that she _knew._ Calista was sitting on the edge of the bed—there’s no way her mother didn’t know. “It’s been a restless night. For a lot of us—although your father is out cold.”

“What about your sleeping pills? The ones that conked you out so hard that you fell asleep through a robbery…”

“As they say, everything happens for a reason.”

“Since when did you start saying that?”

“I don’t—but I strongly believe it. When you’ve had a life as eventful as mine…but I’m getting off topic here. Calista explained what happened with Cornelius.” Cordelia hisses, the memory still too painful to consider. “If it were me, Cordelia, I would have done the same thing.”

Cordelia fights the tears that surface, closing her eyes in shame when she can’t.

Seeing her daughter’s disdain, she pulls back. “We won’t talk about it now. There are more concerning matters at hand.”

“You’re right…I want all of us to have a chat. Fitz doesn’t trust Calista,> She turns to the teen, <And you don’t trust Fitz.>

“I refuse. He’s the one who’s going to destroy everything— _not me.”_ Calista glowers, her voice drips with resentment.

“He—and others—seem to think otherwise. He’s just going to be on your ass until we clear things up.” Cordelia sighs. “Has Fitz said anything to you, Mom?”  

“Bits and pieces, but he’s said nothing concrete—to me at any rate. I’m not sure what he’s said to your father.” Her mother’s contemplative stare throws Cordelia off, “But I wasn’t talking about that. Calista shared with me something quite disturbing—according to Cornelius—she has a window of time—as it were.”

Her stomach’s hollow, “Yes, I’m _aware…”_ It’s just like her mother to get right to the point without distraction. Just how more can she take of this before her sanity breaks?

“Then I don’t need to delve into the specifics.” Her mother rests her eyes for a moment.

Calista holds her arms together tightly, “I didn’t want you to find out. I was lucky _he_ didn’t.”

She’s referring to Radjerd. “ _He_ knows.”  

Calista shrieks, “You told him?!”

“Phoebe did, _after_ we were pulled from this reality.”

“Wonderful, so I _am_ as good as dead…” Calista sinks into her seat as she covers her face. “I messed everything up!”

“Cornelius’s word isn’t law. Maybe it’s only speculation.”  

That doesn’t seem to cheer Calista up. “There is truth to his words—maybe not by _days, but…”_ She pauses. “My birthday is ten months from now—or—it’s supposed to be.”

Cordelia pales, “Is it certain you’ll fade from existence if…certain criteria isn’t met?”

“I don’t know, but I’d rather not find out,” Calista says meekly.

“Nothing needs to be decided right this minute. We have weeks, theoretically.” Her mother says with caution. I only wanted to bring it into our awareness. Maurie’s due to arrive soon, she might have another solution for us.”

Maurie _Willa?!_ Cordelia’s eyes widen.

“I know you know who I’m talking about.” Her mother’s cool green eyes lock with hers.  “I remember you from back then, Cordelia. It’s why I didn’t want you involved with Willa Corp—it seems it was meant to happen.” Her shoulders slump. “Three weeks after, I decided to terminate the pregnancy. It was a boy. He’d have been thirty-two years old.” She turns away, attempting to save face. “Please don’t breathe a word of this to your father. If he knew, he’d hate me.”

“I won’t.” Cordelia then asks, “When did you make the connection—that I was the same Cordelia you met that day?” She doesn’t ask about Blake Stratford. She wants to put that far in the back of her mind.

“Oddly enough, it was when you graduated from your seventh year. It was the way you looked at me—I think you were surprised I came.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up…but that’s neither here nor there.” Cordelia frowns, facing Calista. “Are you open to having a civil conversation with him?”

“Does it have to be civil?”

“Yes,” Cordelia moans. She misses the glint of amusement on her mother’s face.

She prays she can put an end to this.


	23. Chapter 23

This sitting room had gotten more use than it had in months. Cordelia sits down, her heart pulsing louder than she’s used to. Her arms still ache from before; Her father refused to let her out of his grasp when he saw that she returned. The man’s eyes were moist with emotion; he would have squeezed the life out of her if her mother hadn’t intervened. Cordelia didn’t mind the hug, just preferred that she didn’t get crushed to death in the process. After she could feel her arms again, she had to work her father down. He wanted her to spill the details about their trip, and she would, but now wasn’t the time. She had a headache trying to convince Calista to chat with Fitz, a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to witnessing. Calista and Fitz didn’t appear to be the most reasonable of people.  On top of it all, Maurie would be visiting. Phoebe was meeting her at the airport, and they’d be due back in the hour. If she was anything like she was in her youth…there’s only so much stress Cordelia can take.

Her parents share a settee while her and Calista sit across from them. Fitz sits in the chair nearest to her mother. Radjerd opted to stay upstairs—he stressed that the language barrier would hinder his understanding. Cordelia suspects it’s to do with Calista—which may be for the best. Calista knew her secret was out—his presence would only distract her.

Cordelia hears weary breathing—Calista sits on the edge of her seat, her hands are rubbing her knees. She had zero poker face.

“Calista, can you tell us why you’re here?” Her mother opens the floor.

“I can…” Calista speaks, holding her arms together. “I came here to find my father and stop him from making the biggest mistake he will ever make; leaving my dimension.” Cordelia examines Fitz closely as Calista speaks; his expression doesn’t change. “I was told he passed away before I was born, but that was a lie. My mom’s journals proved it. I tried to talk to her, but she'd have none of it, so I went to my grandfather. He told me the truth about my father, and why he couldn’t stay—someone born in an opposing dimension cannot exist in the other without grave consequences.”

“But that’s simply not true,” Cordelia’s father cuts in. “I told you—”

“Aleck, _not now.”_ Her mother’s stern words silence her husband. “Please, let Calista finish.”

Calista adds, “No, he said the same thing. I know you’re not from this reality but from another.”

“What?!” Cordelia covers her mouth in shock.

Her mother’s irritation is strong. “Damn it all—Cordelia, I’ll tell you later but one issue at a time. Calista, continue please.” Cordelia’s shushed into silence, despite wanting to know more about her father’s origins.

“I…stole the watch and took matters into my own hands,” Calista says bitterly. “I wasn’t in a good place, and I felt that my own life was more of a hindrance to my family than anything else. I thought maybe that if my father knew about my existence, he would want to work things out. But I couldn’t tell him…”

There it is, Fitz’s stare softens briefly—this was a perfect time to interject.

“Which is why Calista is here—not to destroy dimensions—but rather—” Cordelia can’t bring herself to say it out loud.

“Then why do I make you nervous?” Fitz asks with speculation.

“You don’t—but you’re the one who convinces him to leave his family.”

“You think I’m going to take Radjerd away from you, but I don’t see how I can. We’re stuck here.” Fitz shakes his head. “Even if I did want to go home, our dimension is wrecked beyond repair.”

Calista frowns, “But my mother’s journal…”

“You’re basing this on a simple journal?” Fitz asks in disbelief.

“It’s all I had.” Calista barks back, “I was angry and wanted answers—no one was telling me them so I took matters into my own hands. I feel bad for stealing the watch from my grandfather, but I was sick of being a burden for everyone else. I…thought maybe if I found my dad, then—” Her voice breaks, emotion taking over. Calista scrunches up her lips as she turns her head away. Guilt overwhelms Cordelia at this moment—she had screwed up her own daughter beyond compare. “I’m not a danger to anyone. I swear it—I’d have nothing to gain by destroying another dimension! I just wanted to feel like I mattered to someone.”

Fitz pauses, his face is perplexed. “Wanting to find your father isn’t the problem. My own father wished to bring my mother back from the dead—a seemingly harmless pursuit until he unravelled the fabrics of reality. People do thoughtless things when they’re searching for a love they cannot find. It’s what makes your goal so dangerous—I’ve seen it happen before.”

Calista argues, “Then what do you suggest I should do?”  

“Just go home. Whatever happens, happens. I doubt things will remain the same since Radjerd knows about you.”

“I’m not leaving!” Calista protests, standing up in defence. “I can’t trust he will, not until I hear it from his lips.”

“I didn’t imagine you would.” Cordelia expects Fitz to bring up the file he had on Calista—she’s surprised when he doesn’t. “As for you, Aleck—if I may—you say you’re not from this dimension?”

“…I’m not. I was a sick child, and my father—Cordelia’s grandfather—hired Willa Corp to…” He stops, struggling with his train of thought. “…replace me, with another version of myself. A healthier version.” Her grandfather knew what Fitz’s father would do. He didn’t trust Aleck—and did what had to be done. “I have no memory of my old life, but it was easy to put two and two together. I can’t help but wonder how they extracted me—as we only have a prototype of a watch that doesn’t work. Calista proves that we eventually figure it out.”

“This watch doesn’t pose any danger to this time. I’ve been able to travel backwards without putting this dimension at risk. I remember learning that this watch can also travel to other dimensions _._ You can’t travel back in time in another dimension unless you arrived  in said dimension first.”

 “So if I were to use your watch to go home, I could only go back in time once I was in my home dimension.”

“Exactly.” Calista nods—soon reeling from her apparent mistake. “Don’t get any ideas—you’re not taking him away.”

“I have no desire to go home—if you only saw what I did—you’d understand why.” That video he shared—it’s haunting to think about. She couldn’t imagine living that very experience.

A man in a well-dressed suit enters the room, interrupting the mood. He announces that a white vehicle was approaching the house.

“Maurie…” Her mother rolls her eyes as she stands up. “Can we halt this conversation for a moment? I’d like to brief her myself before she starts getting ideas of her own.” She heads from the room, following the man to the door.

Fitz frowns, directing his comment at Calista. “I’m not going to ignore Cornelius’s warning. Maybe it’s unwarranted, but from what I’ve experienced, I just can’t risk it. I need _somewhere_ to live.”

“Both of you had experienced more than I would ever wish to.” Her father speaks, “I wanted to create the watch to find out where I came from, but seeing what kind of trouble that caused—I don’t think I wish to find out anymore. I have my family here—a son and a granddaughter. I don’t think I could will myself to leave now.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Aleck. I don’t need coddling.”

“You don’t seem the type,” He chuckles. “But, I failed you. Even if it isn’t something I did knowingly, I need to make it right. As long as you wish to stay Fitz, you’re welcome here. As for you, Calista. It may be different for you—given that you haven’t been born yet, but you’re given the same right. The tests confirmed you are indeed my granddaughter, and I will treat you as such for as long as you wish to stay.”

Calista stands up, flinging her arms around the man. Cordelia’s taken aback—there’s genuine relief on the girl’s face. It’s the first time she’s seen Calista so relaxed.

“…Forgive me, I’ve become a skeptical man in my thirties.” There’s a nostalgic tone to Fitz’s words. “Thank you, Aleck.”

Her father grins, but Cordelia’s ears pick up on the voices approaching the sitting room.

“You might want to better cover your daughter’s discrepancies, _Cousin._ Now we have the St. Antillan boy’s mother stirring interest in the news.” Cordelia freezes; she doesn’t recognize the voice, but the subject matter—she did. “The boy is supposed to be a dead man—how are we to explain his presence to the grieving mother?”

She doesn’t have time to internalize as three women walk into the sitting room. One is dressed in a white tailored suit, her green eyes as sharp as they were in her youth. Her hair is jet black, just reaching the base of her neck. How is it that her face has hardly changed? Would she recognize Cordelia? Her flat stare doesn’t indicate that she does. Phoebe’s wide-eyed when she sees Cordelia—it’s obvious she wants to ask about Cordelia’s adventures, but she keeps her mouth shut.

“Maurie, now isn’t the time.”

“It’s what I was called here to do—fix the man a new identity before this _Leanna_ and _Freydis_ start sticking in their nose in where it doesn’t belong.” Freydis? That couldn’t be the woman she met at the bar…

“Mother, _please._ Not in front of Calista.” Cordelia hears Phoebe whisper.

“Ah, the traveller…” Maurie’s eyes settle on Calista—the recognition in her eyes is strong. “We meet again.”

“Me?” Calista squeaks.

“Yes…I recall seeing you before—although it was many years ago. Cornelius—rest his soul—warned me about you.”

“We don’t know the full story, Maurie. Please, sit down and we’ll discuss everything in the open.”

“I don’t recognize this man.” She gestures her head towards Fitz. “He’s the spitting image of your husband.”

Fitz has no problem introducing himself. “My name is Fitzpatrick Firthe—I’m from a different plane of existence, as it were.” His lip quivers with tension. The constant reminder must be tough for him.

“Your son, I gather? There’s no mistaking those emerald eyes of his—”

“He’s _our_ son, yes.” Her father gestures Maurie to sit in the chair beside Cordelia. Phoebe leans against the wall. “As you can see, we’ve worked ourselves into a bit of a problem. We will need help constructing a new identity for Radjerd—as you know. It seems we might need your help for other things as well.”

The chair squeaks under Maurie’s weight as she leans forward, surprising Cordelia. The woman, like her mother, is slim in frame. “Are you referring to _her?”_

“It’s as I’ve said, Mother. Calista came back to this time to find her father, that’s it. She made mistakes, but who wouldn’t under these circumstances—if I didn’t know my dad I’d be—”

“Phoebe, this isn’t a time for your theatrics. We need to keep focused here— _she_ shouldn’t be messing with time. It’s why I’m going to have to ask her for her watch.”

“No!” Calista growls, clasping onto her dress pocket. “I need this.”

“You’re an irresponsible child who got her hands on the wrong toy.” Maurie narrows her eyes. “In order to right your wrongs, I need to have possession of the watch.”

“Please, there’s no need in scaring the girl—”

“She should be scared. This is exactly what Cornelius warned me about.”

Calista and Maurie only met in her mother’s office—did that mean that Cornelius survived their encounter? Both relief and dread course through her.

Her father interjects once more, “Maurie. Why don’t we talk this out, relax a little? Calista, you’re not going to take off without letting us know, right?”  

The dark-haired teen nods, “No, I won’t. I promise!”

“Promises mean nothing to a Firthe.” Maurie spits, folding her arms.

“You don’t get to come into my home and insult _my_ family!” Her mother hisses.

“Mother, _please!_ Antagonizing them isn’t going to help anyone.” Phoebe pleads. “Can we start with talking to Radjerd first?”

Maurie passively shakes her head. “I suppose you’re right. Where is the St. Antillan miscreant?”

“He’s upstairs, isn’t he?” Her father gestures with his head. “Delia, can you bring him downstairs?”

“Sure.” Hesitation lines Cordelia’s voice. Her eyes survey the room; Calista would be safe here with both her father and mother.  

“I’ll come with you,” Fitz excuses himself—joining Cordelia at the exit. “Knowing him, he’s probably worked himself up in that room.”

“He could have joined us,” Cordelia mentions as the two walk up the stairs.

“He’s not sure how to act around Calista. I’m sure he’s not the only one.” Fitz says calmly. He’d be right—Cordelia has no idea what she’s doing. “It’ll be a relief for him to see the two of us.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, we barely know each other.”

“He was worried sick when the two of you disappeared. Haven’t seen him that frantic in a long time.”

Her heart flutters—oh—apparently, she liked hearing that.

Fitz leads her to Radjerd’s room, knocking softly on the door. No answer. Fitz knocks again, but there’s nothing.

A crashing sound spurs both Cordelia and Fitz on their feet, heading towards her father’s study. The door’s ajar; as the noise grows louder.

Inside she sees a panicked Radjerd, his violet eyes lock on the two. He stands before a floating crack about one foot long.

<Fitz, it’s just like before!> Radjerd panics.

<It’s just as Willis feared… _god._ > Fitz covers his head with his hands. <What are we going to do?!>

Cordelia stares on in fear.

_Was this a fracture?_


	24. Chapter 24

<We need to contain this—I remember you said that Willa Corp had some kind of thing that contained the fracture—> Radjerd attempts to come up with a solution, his posture firm and ridged, the room still humming with a low whooshing sound. 

Cordelia whips her head around to look at him, but he’s paler than before. She watches as the beads on his forehead perspire, his mouth agape in disbelief. His fingers clenched together in his palm. He can't believe what he's seeing; he wouldn't be the only one. She faces the fracture in front of her, uncertain of what to do. This very thing had destroyed both Radjerd and Fitz’s dimension—and here it was, right in front of them.

<Fitz, tell them we need to find whatever that box thingy was—> Radjerd is surprised when nothing comes from his lips, <Fitz?>

Cordelia stares at the man, he doesn't flinch. He doesn't do anything. Should she intervene? She's not sure that she can. It's hard to say what the best course of action to take is. She tries anyway. <Look, Maurie’s downstairs. She’s the head of Willa Corp, she’d know something about this!>

<We're...going to die. This dimension's going to get swallowed up.> Fitz says in a spooked whisper. <I don't know if we're going to make it, this wasn't supposed to happen. I don't know what to do. Fuck. FUCK!> Fitz reels in place, Radjerd rushes to his side.

<Snap out of it, going to be fine. We're going to find a way out of this, no matter what we have to do. We can do this, but we need your help. You're the only one who's gone through this.> Radjerd attempts to talk him down. 

<I know...I know!> His words don't seem to help the blond as he rakes his fingers through his blond hair. <I’m trying!>

Appearing to have calmed, Fitz breathes in slowly. <You're right, now I’m just being careless.> Cordelia's shocked how quick he pulled himself back to form. 

Radjerd stares at the fracture, a dreaded hissing sound escapes his lips when the realization came to him. <This is where I entered this reality—you don’t think that my coming here had weakened whatever’s holding the fabric of reality together?>

Cordelia interrupts as the looming fracture discomforts her, <Maurie and Phoebe are downstairs as we speak, if anybody knows about any kind of technology that could subdue this, it's them. The sooner we address this, the sooner we can get it contained, right?!>

Radjerd nods, guiding Fitz towards the door. <Or maybe they don't, and we're stuck trying to figure this out.> The hollow words of Fitz's voice come through.

Seeing something so unnatural linger in mid-air—it’s horrifying. Her disbelief is the only thing keeping her together.

 

“Whatever you're saying, doesn't make any sense,” Maurie questions Cordelia immediately. What the hell are you on about when you say fracture?”  

Cordelia’s faced with multiple pairs of eyes on her. Radjerd still has the bewildered Fitz next to him. “All you have to do is go upstairs and go into the office to see what I’m talking about. It's not like we're trying to bamboozle you, the damn thing is floating right in midair!” The annoyance in Cordelia's voice grows, “I don't know anything about fractures, or dimension-travel, but it needs to be investigated.”

“God…” Her father gasps. “And you say that thing—it’s upstairs in my office?! I thought there was a gusty breeze upstairs or something--you know how old the windows are in this place." 

“It’s not shifting much; Radjerd told me the fracture isn’t fast-moving, but obviously we should get it looked at.” Why the hell is Cordelia the one handling things—this should be Fitz’s job!

Phoebe raises a brow, “Fitz, you've experienced these things first hand, you should come with me as we show my mother what's going on.”

Fitz's hollow nod shows that he’s still in shock. She can see the glazed look in his eyes.

“I don't think he's much up for anything,” Cordelia says quietly. She feels a couple of pairs of judgemental eyes on her. “I didn't mean it like that. What I meant is that he doesn't seem like he can handle things right now, and I don't blame him. Let me go, at least to make sure that nothing bad happens at least.” What the hell was Cordelia signing up for? She certainly didn't expect this gusto, especially from herself. “I'm not trained in any of this stuff, but I know it said if I accidentally stepped into anything I wasn't supposed to, at least people could get me out. Not to say I'm expendable, but...”

“Don't bother. You're not experienced in these matters—now, where is your office, Aleck?” Maurie imposes her will.

“Upstairs, to the left. Phoebe, Maurie, follow me. The rest of you stay down here for now.” Why was her father acting so calm? No, she appreciates it—hysterics would solve nothing.

Cordelia is left with Fitz, Calista, Radjerd and her mother. The silver-haired woman doesn’t say anything, horror vibrating in her eyes. She stares at the group; there’s nothing any of them could do. If that thing was to expand, it’d swallow them whole no matter what they did at this moment. Even if all Cordelia wanted to do was puke.

Fitz sits down on the settee, his posture refusing to let up. “It’s just like before—I…can’t.” His fingers curl into fists over his knees as he takes in a shaky breath. His foot taps on the rug. “Are we truly fucked…?”

“We’ll find a way out of this.” Cordelia’s attention shifts to her mother. “We don’t have the luxury of freaking out. I…understand why you are but the rest of us need to keep a level head. Which, Cordelia, I’m impressed that you’re so calm.” She shakes her head. “Maurie Willa is the best and brightest—if anyone can figure out a solution, it’s her.” Cordelia knew that her mother believed those very words—the high praise to Maurie being that very indicator.  

But, that’s not what her attention is on. Instead, it’s on Calista’s gaze. She hasn’t stopped staring at Radjerd since they entered the room. Calista's narrowed blue eyes linger on him, intense in thought. There’s no way Radjerd noticed, his focus purely on Fitz’s well being. It might have been for the best. She leaves her mother, standing next to where Calista is sitting.

“Hey.”

Calista lifts up her chin to look at Cordelia.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” She lowers her chin again, staring at Radjerd more intently than before.

“I mean, you’re from the future so that means all of this is going to turn out alright— _correct?”_

“I don’t know—I never heard of a fracture. Chances are that it could have been kept from me, but it would explain how Fitz got away with _him_ in the first place. He'll probably escape through that thing…” Her words drip with disdain. Is _that_ where her mind was?

Cordelia sits beside Calista, replying in a hushed whisper. “Listen, I don’t think that’s the biggest problem here. I highly doubt that Fitz is planning to escape when the guy can barely operate. I’m surprised my head isn’t as scrambled by the fracture’s appearance as his is right now.”

“Good.”

Cordelia’s tempted to snap back a witty comment, but she refrains. It wasn’t worth it.

“I shouldn’t have panicked—bringing you to the past wasn’t my intention but it was a huge mistake. You weren’t supposed to know who I was—if Cornelius didn’t lock me away, you’d have been none the wiser. It’s because of him that you know who I am—I know, I should just suck it up. And now there’s this fracture that could rip this whole reality apart as we speak. What a lovely day!”

“Yeah, you’re right. I wish I didn’t know. But I do, and I’m trying my best. Daughter…or not…you know more about this timey wimey shit than I do. Whatever you know could help us.”

Calista bites her lip. That came out more aggressive than intended. She’d try a different angle.

Cordelia awkwardly gestures to Radjerd. “…You should talk to him, later, that is. Since he’s the one you came back for and all. For what it’s worth, he and I _are_ going to try to figure this out.” 

Calista’s expression softens, however, she remains silent. Cordelia didn’t need to hear her words to understand the girl’s relief.

 

Cordelia angles her head up as she hears the quick pattering of footsteps—Maurie rushes downstairs and out the door, her ear glued to her phone. Cordelia can’t hear what she’s saying, but she leaves the manor immediately. Phoebe and Cordelia’s father rejoin them as she gestures Cordelia and Calista to come forward. Both Radjerd and Fitz perk up as her mother joins the conversation.

“Listen, I think we can get this under control. Mom’s got a gadget for everything.” Phoebe explains. “But I need to ask you Calista—do you know about this fracture?”

“I asked her already and she said no,” Cordelia says in a defensive tone. “We don’t need to bother her about it.” Calista's eyes widen at the exchange. Cordelia misses the appreciative stare she gives her. 

“I wasn’t?” Phoebe lifts a confused brow. “Look, that fracture looks pretty mild right now, but the fact that it’s there makes me nervous. If there’s anything you’re not telling us Calista, now is the time to fess up.” Her stare is intent on the black-haired teen.

“There isn’t.”

Phoebe steps back, nodding. “Very well—seems that I need to wait to see what kind of magic trick my mother’s going to perform.”

“Where was she when I needed her?” Fitz whispers.

“Right…you said you met Willis?” Phoebe takes a seat next to him.

“He said to find you like I mentioned before. I never thought the fracture would catch up with us.”

“What else did he say to you?”

Fitz closes his eyes. “Nothing of substance.”

“Not helping.” A growl escapes the brunette’s throat.  “I know you aren’t well, but this is important. If this fracture takes a life of its own, our dimension will end up just like yours.”

That’s what Cordelia’s afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Hope you are all having a great May so far! 
> 
> I also apologize for the small chapter. Starting next week, they will be back to normal length, and I'm excited about it! We're getting to the good bits now! 
> 
> Rose <3


	25. Chapter 25

Calista can hear her heartbeat through her ears. She sits back down, leaving Cordelia and Phoebe to chat as she nervously glances around the room. She pulls at her collar, attempting to alleviate the sudden panic she feels.

The fracture upstairs…it’s _real._  

Calista takes a deep breath, her face still from the sudden realization. Her next actions could make, or break her future. She was already on thin ice with her mother—or rather—Cordelia Firthe. They had a severely rocky start—but she did just get Phoebe off her back. Calista’s mother was a piece of work—she doesn’t understand why she didn’t believe that her younger incarnation would be any different. At least she was willing to understand—she had her older self beat by a landslide. Even so…it’s hard to trust Cordelia.

But…there’s one other person to this equation, who was sitting to the right of her. But, she’s scared to turn his way. She can’t face him properly—not when he’s comforting Fitz of all people—the man who would steal her father away. If she chose to do nothing, she was forfeiting her right to exist.

She had to try.

With clenched fists, Calista turns to face Radjerd, holding her breath as she stares at him. She softly clears her throat, hoping to get his attention, but as expected, his focus is on the blond man. She had to steal his attention, but not garner suspicion. That would be tough with Fitz right there. She closes her eyes, as she says in a low voice, <Radjerd, can I speak with you? It’s nothing _bad_ , I…just want to talk.>

His head jerks to look at her—it’s as if he was mindful of her presence this whole time. <Y-yes, of course, of course.> She wasn’t expecting him to be this jumpy. Was it the fracture that was making him nervous, or was it _her?_

<Can we chat alone, please? The lights in here are messing with my head.> The teen asks politely. Could she get outside without being stopped? No, that should be okay, she’s bringing Radjerd with her.

<Where are you going?> Phoebe eyeballs Radjerd first as the two walk near the exit.

<Outside, for some fresh air. It’s stuffy,> Calista starts. Radjerd nods, much to her relief. <We won't leave the entrance—promise.>

<I think that’s alright—but know someone will be keeping an eye on you. I can’t say I’m overly trusting after that stunt you pulled back at Willa Corp.>

Calista looks at the ground as she knocks her knees together. <I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a choice.>

<You could have been honest with me. But—that’s neither here nor there at this point. Go, but remember, you’re not _truly_ alone.> She narrows her brown eyes at Calista. Shame fills her gut—deservingly so. Phoebe’s right—she should have gone to her first.

Calista takes in a breath of fresh air as the two step outside—it’s exactly what she needs. She glances at Radjerd as he carefully observes the ivory steps. They looked fine and well maintained to her. Calista gestures for Radjerd to sit down as she leans against the bannister of the stairs. She had a perfect view of the fountain.

<Calista, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier about… _you know._ > He sports a heavy frown. <I just need to say this—If I knew I had a daughter, I’d have never left. I promise you.>

<You don’t have to pledge yourself to me, I get it.> Calista laughs nervously as she glances around them. Why did this make her so nervous—especially when this is what she wanted to hear? She had fantasized about meeting her father for _years,_ and this was the best possible outcome! Why is she deflecting?! _God dammit!_ <What I mean is, I…I’m relieved to hear you say that.> Her vision becomes blurry as the moisture in her eyes builds. <Mom tried to look for you—but she became jaded while doing so. I was a constant reminder of her failure, and, now that I’m thinking about it—I was likely a reminder of you as well. I don’t really look much like a Firthe.>

<You have her face,> Radjerd softly smiles. <And beauty.>

Calista flushes. Was he referring to Cordelia? Despite how her mother treated her, Calista always thought her mother as beautiful. The curse of being her daughter, she supposes. With her dark features, she didn’t think she resembled Cordelia at all. <D-do I? I’ve always thought I was too tall...>

<Which you’ve gotten from my mother—and it flatters you well.> His eyes sparkle as he places a hand on her. <I’d never imagined that my own daughter would be as gorgeous as you.>  

<I—I’m glad.> Emotion bubbles from her throat as she slips a hand into her pocket. <I’m sorry—that you know about me. I’m sure you and Cordelia had other plans for your life—and now that I’m here, I’m not going to pretend I won’t be begging for my life.> She sharply turns her head, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. <I’m scared. I don’t want to die.>  

<You won’t fade away.> Radjerd’s words are firm. <I won’t let that happen.>

<I appreciate what you’re saying, but…you can’t force someone to have a baby. If Cordelia doesn’t want me, I…know what’s going to happen.> Calista blinks when she’s scooped up in Radjerd’s strong arms.

<When Phoebe told me about you, I was struck. I’m twenty-nine years old—there’s no way in hell my daughter could be eighteen. But, I’m also from a different plane of existence—something I didn’t even know was possible. When I hold you like this—my gut tells me that you’re blood. I’m…sorry you had to travel through time to find me.> He eases off of her, staring at her intently. <I’m sorry that you had to grow up without me. I know what that’s like. I know it wasn’t _me_ who left you, but it doesn’t help me feel less guilty. I understand what it feels like for a father ditch you outright. As for Cordelia—I know she’s a good person. Granted, I haven’t known her that long, but I’m certain that she won’t want you to die. She will make the right choice.>

<Easy for you to say,> Calista doesn’t mean to be cynical. She smartens up before she offends him, <I mean…I know you’re trying. I’m sorry. This rift stuff—it’s got me so messed up.>

<…Same with Fitz. The stuff he’s seen—god—I’ve never seen him break down like that before, _ever. > _Radjerd chooses his next words carefully. <Are you _sure_ you don’t know anything about the fracture? If you’re from the same timeline, surely something like this has happened.>

<No. I don’t know anything about this.> She lies, the action a punch to her gut. It killed her to lie to him like this, but she can’t let them know what’s happening. If she does, Fitz would get the upper hand. He’d convince Radjerd to leave; all of this would be for nothing.

<I know you don’t mean us harm, but Fitz is a man who uses logic over feeling. He’d never blindly accuse without evidence,>

<But Fitz has! He doesn’t have said files that told him I was a danger.> It’s the whole truth. For all she knew, Fitz had hidden knowledge he wasn’t sharing with the Firthes, or Radjerd. A nonexistent file that proved her guilt could have been the seed that’d spread doubt amongst the family. <But I’m sure you’re right. Whatever he found might have some truth to it.> She mopes.

<I don’t believe you’re a danger to us. You were only concerned about finding me, and now that you have, you won’t be losing me—ever.>  

She can tell there’s mistrust in his eyes, despite saying that he believed her. <I would never harm anyone, please know that.> She meant it. Even if it meant harming Fitz…which she wouldn’t do.

 _Right?_  

Radjerd switches the subject, <I’ll do my best to reassure Fitz, although that might take a while. He’s shell shocked.>

<Cordelia needs attention too.> Calista says plainly. <After what she endured with me, she needs _someone_ to keep her sane. It might be a way for the two of you to trust each other—grow closer—you know.>

<I know what you mean.> A newfound conviction flashes across the man’s face.

With that settled, Calista needed to get to that office, and _soon._ She needed to take a better look at that fracture. Maurie might be able to contain it, but as her history states, she couldn’t. It’s likely that the party indoors were going to investigate the fracture—that much is certain. She’d be a fool not to assume that to be the case. <I’m alright now, if you wanted to go back inside. I just need some time to think.>

<That’s okay,> He says that, but there’s hesitance in his voice. He doesn’t want to leave her. <Not that I see anyone around, but Phoebe did say you were being watched.>

<I don’t plan on running off. I have too much to lose if I do.>

Radjerd nods, his eyes linger on hers before he goes back inside. The hesitation’s still there, but he allows himself to break from it. Relief fills Calista’s chest—it’s a brief moment, but it’s there. Her hand touches her chest as she takes in the sweet, relieving moment that Radjerd has accepted her—not for who he thought she was, but for _her._ Just her. His daughter. She had at least _half_ a chance at existing…no…that’s not fair. Cordelia did say she’d try. But _try_ meant a lot of things. She can’t allow herself to get overly paranoid now. It wasn’t the time for it.

Calista had to get to that office. That rift was going to open, and with it, Radjerd and Fitz’s home dimension. Calista knew how to stop it—but in exchange—she would demand her father.

No matter what. She’d fight for her family.

***

<Is she still outside?> Phoebe alerts Cordelia as her head darts around the room. <Calista didn’t run off with Radjerd, did she?! My mother’s going to have my head if she does!>

<I think she just wanted to talk with Radjerd alone...> Cordelia sheepishly admits. She didn’t want to get into the details of what that conversation would look like. Probably a bunch of mother-bashing hogwash—she frowns at the thought. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree—did it? All she had to do was look to her own mother for that conclusion.

Phoebe jumps when Radjerd enters the room. He breezes past Phoebe and stands at Cordelia’s feet.

<Come with me,> He whispers as he extends his hand.

She looks at it, flushed from the attention everyone was giving them from his brash entrance. <What’s going on—where’s Calista?>

<Outside, she just needed a breather. Now, please, I need to talk to you alone before I lose my nerve.>

<And Fitz?> Cordelia nods to the right, Fitz was in a conversation with her mother, appearing undisturbed despite Radjerd's entrance. 

<I’d rather not leave him much longer, but this is important.>

Cordelia lightly nods, <Alright, but what is it?>

<We’ll talk about it in my room.> Cordelia’s almost lifted from her feet as Radjerd whisks her up the stairs, Phoebe keeping an eye on them as they pass the study. His pace is fast as he practically pulls her down the hall and into the guest room. He swiftly closes the door behind them.  

<Okay, what is it?> Cordelia raises a brow, as Radjerd’s stare is fixed on hers. He approaches her, cupping both hands with his palms as he searches her eyes for permission. She didn’t know what he was doing, but god, did she respond favourably to him. She rests the back of her hand on his neck—so much for talking. Maybe this is the kind of distraction she needs. His hands move from her face to her waist as he leans her on her back, his mouth only now parting with hers. She looks up at him with dazed eyes as he speaks.

<I know this is sudden, but—> His speech stops, as his brows pinch together. Nervous laughter escapes him as the words come out, <I think now is our best shot.>

<Our best shot for what?> Cordelia pulls a face as she stares at the man on top of her.

A look of panic crosses his eyes as a pained grunt escapes his lips. He hops off of her as he turns around, combing his fingers through his hair as he sits next to her on the bed. <I’m sorry—I shouldn’t— _god—this has me messed up. > _

<Yeah, no kidding…you pulled me away from the fuss to make out—then hobble on with this nonsense.> She gives him a judgemental stare.  

<I knew I’d lose my god damn nerve.> Radjerd hisses in uncertainty. <That fracture—what’s happened to Fitz—it’ll likely happen here too if we’re not careful. What chance are we going to have to ensure Calista’s—>

<—existence? That’s what you were going to say…> Cordelia tenses up. <That’s why you dragged me up here?>

Radjerd droops his shoulders, <Yes.>

<And you thought that _now_ was a good time to— _Jesus Christ! >_ She moans, covering her face with her hands. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders. <You could warn a girl first, you know?!>

<I wouldn’t have done anything without your permission!> Radjerd’s voice raises.

<Are you so sure about that? You seemed a bit desperate—all that about _losing your nerve. > _

<Forgive me for being on edge while my _daughter_ has an uncertain future ahead of her. We owe her the chance to live.>

Cordelia groans, <You don’t think I know that?! It’s kind of a big deal for me to consider—you know—having a _kid_.>

Radjerd sighs through his teeth, <I get that it’s scary, confusing, downright maddening…but if things do make a turn for the worse—will we have a chance?>

<You can’t expect me to _agree_ to this right now, that’s absurd! I agreed to date you—see what happens—but _this?!_ I can’t—even if the fabric of our reality splits at the seams. It’s too much for me to take in.> Cordelia narrows her eyes. <If you had asked me first, I could have told you I had at least a couple of weeks to _ensure_ her conception.>

<How do you know?>

<Her birthday is nine and a half months from now.> Her face glows red.

<…Oh.>

<Look, I know how severely fucked up this situation is—but—I’m just not ready. I need more time.>

<That’s not something we have much of.>

She glares at him, <Not. Helping.> God dammit.

_This was a fucking nightmare._


	26. Chapter 26

<I scared her off.> Radjerd begins, hanging his head low as he speaks. He and Calista sat on the porch facing the fountain—a more private space that both of them could talk in. Cordelia had notably avoided him since yesterday morning. Not that he could blame her, he came on ridiculously strong. It’s what happened when he panics...why was he programmed like this? Talking with Calista brought him great ease, he was hoping for a similar resolution. 

<I hope she doesn't continue to.> Calista says with a judgmental tone. She was in her right to, it was her life on the line.   

A sinking feeling in his stomach tells him otherwise. If he didn’t play this right, he’d scare Cordelia off completely.   

A few minutes of silence pass between them before Calista mentions, <You know phones become a major lifeline where I come from.>   

<And they’re not already?> He smirks avidly.   

<No, they’re not. Archaic compared to what I’m used to.> Calista chuckles, a laugh that is reminiscent of his own mother. How was that even possible? Surely the two hadn’t met. Her expression turns solemn; her eyes trailing off towards the sky. <I know we only just met, but I want you to know that I’d do anything to protect this family.> She says, her words hint strong emotion. <I just want you to know that I wouldn’t do anything unless it were for the greater good.>

<Like stealing Aleck’s watch and hopping back in time?> Radjerd raises a brow.

<Yeah…> Calista turns away from him, the swish of her dark hair hints some brown undertones. She faces away from him, letting out a sigh. <It’s hard knowing what’s going to happen. I’d rather have no idea.>

That was rather odd of her to say. <I thought you came here to do just that?>

<Yes, it is, but…that’s not the only thing. I can’t say anything more—or I’ll jeopardize more than my own existence.> That doesn't reassure him one bit. 

<Can you give me a hint at least?> 

<No.> She turns away. <Sorry, I can't.> 

<I know I can get through to Cordelia, she just needs some time.> He attempts to console her. 

<That’s not what I meant. I mean other events, ones that could have catastrophic outcomes. If everything plays out exactly as it should—that means I won’t see you again.>

<I didn’t know you existed in your time. Now I do—remember what we talked about?> 

<What if that isn’t enough!?> Her tone is unusually stressed. She recognizes it too as she takes in a deep breath. <Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak. There’s just a lot on my mind at the moment—it’s hard to keep my thoughts together.>

<What thoughts?>

Calista immediately brings her fingers to her mouth, her expression foretelling that it couldn’t be good.

<I can’t tell you.> She winces. <I’m sorry.>

He frowns, looking at the girl’s face. Worry begins to circulate—doubt creeping into his mind.

<Maybe I should go…I have a lot on my mind to consider.> Calista frowns, standing up. Her frame shakes as she walks to the patio doors. <Sorry for bothering you, dad—or is that too weird to say—should I call you Radjerd? Yeah, I think I should just stick to a first name basis.> Radjerd stares up as she gives a weak smile before closing the door behind her. He has the desire to chase after her, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm her with his presence.

He has to give her space.

***

“Cordelia?”   

A soft male voice intertwines with the crashing waves of the beachfront. Cordelia turns her shoulder as she rests her arm on her beach chair. Cordelia places her phone on her thigh; she was previously trying to block out yesterday’s events. Thankfully, Maurie found a box-like structure that appeared to hold the fracture in place. After the bullshit that she went through with Radjerd and Calista, she needed some time away from them. She wanted just one hour where she didn’t have any responsibility, like the good old days. Why couldn’t it just have gone back to that?

“What is it, Fitz?” Cordelia tilts her sunshades down, the sun now shining behind her head. Judging by the squint of Fitz’s eyes, it’s high time he got a pair of his own.

“I see that you’re busy, I do, but I needed to talk to someone about this. It’s to do with Radjerd.” Fitz says with an eerie calmness to his voice. “He passed away in this dimension as you very well know, but that’s lead to some complications...the news is spreading that he hasn’t been dead. The puzzling thing is, is that his sister is alive and his father never left the family. Where we came from, his father had disappeared and his sister was dead. I don’t know how to tell him with all of this going on—it might be too much for him to handle.”    

“So, you want me to do your dirty work...” Cordelia crosses her arms. “As if I didn’t have enough problems to deal with.”   

“I wasn’t trying to get you to talk in my stead Cordelia, although I do see it as wise. I...haven’t been myself since the fracture appeared—it looms over my head every chance my thoughts run dry. I don’t trust that Willa Corp’s technologies will be enough to keep that thing at bay, either.”  

“Why do you say that?”   

“I have my doubts—we had something similar in my dimension and it didn't work. Not to alarm you, but Calista’s been acting really shifty, which doesn’t help matters. I saw her leave Aleck’s office yesterday, but I’ve been trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. I really am trying, but something’s screaming at me that she meddled with something.”   

“God, can we not talk about her for one second...” Cordelia groans, throwing her head in her hands. “I’m constantly reminded of my  _duty_  to bring her into this plane of existence—no thanks to your _bro.”_    

Fitz holds his hands in the air, “Sorry, it’s a sore subject. I should have expected as such—that must be one hell of a weight on your shoulders.”   

“Tell that to the family. They’re acting like I’m a pariah because I don’t wish to sell my soul to motherhood.” Cordelia crosses her arms. Oddly enough, she hears the man laugh at her comment.

“That’s one way of putting it—for the record—I have no opinion. I agree that it’s quite a mess, but it’s ultimately your choice. If Calista had left well enough alone…”

“…she would exist?” Cordelia raises a brow. “Not to be too real, but I’m not _that_ foolish. I’m surprised you’re not advocating for her disappearance.”   

“I’m no monster, Cordelia. I don’t trust her motives, sure, but I don’t wish to eradicate her from existence.” Fitz claps his hands together. “Regardless, I’d like to talk about Radjerd’s family—erm—pre-existing family.”

“Why do you need my help?" 

“I want him to be able to be free to leave the manor, help him adapt to his new life here—in this realm. We could have his death be a cover for something, make it up as we go. As helpful as Maurie and Willa Corp have been, I don’t trust that they will do him justice. I want you to help convince Aleck and Merise to do it.”

“Why don’t you ask them?”

“I’m not their son by blood.” He says frankly.

“Why would Calista risk her life to travel back through time then? My parents are generous and would make him comfortable but…” He still left. She doubted Radjerd left for a vain reason. "I feel that Radjerd would have left under a more serious reason."     

“I wasn’t sure that you wanted to address that. I thought Calista was a point of contention for you?”  That was fair. Cordelia’s not sure how to respond to him.

“Yes—no—I don’t know. She seemed hell bent on not trusting you.” She narrows her eyes. 

“I must do something she doesn't like in her timeline, but I wouldn’t willingly suggest Radjerd away from you, or her.” Fitz scratches his chin. “I’d ask her why she doesn’t trust me, but right now it seems moot. As for Radjerd, would you mind coming with me to talk to your parents?”

“I will, but I don’t think I’ll be much use. Being seen with me in public will be damaging for his reputation,” Cordelia wryly laughs. “You still think it’s a good idea for him to keep his name?”

“From the article I read, they’ve already identified him as the deceased Radjerd Laurius. There’s no coming back from that.” Of course, he had to read  _that_ incriminating piece of information.

“You’re really going out of your way for him…” Cordelia hmms. “Why is that?”   

“I see Radjerd as a brother. He’s helped me through times of need, as I did him. He was a delinquent, looking to make a fresh start and I was looking to break away from the Firthe name. Now it doesn’t seem like I have much of a name to stand on. Seems that I got my wish in the end,  _ha.”_  

A pang of guilt surfaces. None of this was his fault—he was the victim of his father's mistakes—and by extension,  _her_ father's mistakes. She’s not the comforting type—she has no idea what to say to him. Cordelia sighs as she contemplates her wording.    

“For what it’s worth, my mother seems to like you.”   

“Seeing her again—it's surreal. I lost Merise when I was young, and she was the whole reason my father when on this crusade.”   

“...there’s another thing I need to tell you about, something you should know. It’s about Cornelius...he said he tried to eradicate Aleck in my timeline, replacing him with another less threatening one. I know how bizarre this comes across, but I can’t stop thinking about it. How can you tell if your own kid is disastrous?” A question she could very much relate to.   

“I’ve been meaning to ask about him...and your time in the past. The last time we talked about it, things seemed dire, but hey—the worst may still come. I wanted to know what happened when you travelled back—especially if you met Cornelius.” Fitz crosses his arms.

“I’d like to say there isn’t much on him I didn’t already know, but...look, Fitz, I hardly know you. I don’t think you want to do anyone harm—you're more a victim in this than I am. If I tell you anything about what I saw, I need you to promise me that you’re not going to double cross me, or put anyone I care about in danger.”   

“Cordelia, I have no reason to. I need to consider what my stay here looks like. I’m fortunate both Aleck and Merise took me in without judgement. Now, what can you tell me about our grandfather?”   

 

Cordelia and Fitz walk through the manor doors. She had shared the encounter with her grandfather in vivid detail. To her knowledge, she hadn’t killed the man, but it was still a horrible memory—one she hoped she could forget rather soon. Fitz absorbed what she said without question, but it did spur a curiosity he had. He wanted to visit their father’s study for clues; maybe they shared similar documents. What he didn’t say (and what Cordelia could obviously tell) is that he was looking for the incriminating file. She didn’t see the harm in it, Willa Corp’s box was working. Cordelia and Fitz walk up the stairs and in the direction of the study—no one was around to see the two enter.

The dark matter contained in the plexiglass like enclosure appeared _bigger_ than last time. It’s not just her who notices it either—Fitz is also on edge by the sight.

“Does it seem…bigger to you or is that just me?” He asks with worry. A noise is heard behind the desk; a girl with big doe eyes pops her head from behind the chair.

Calista.

“What are you doing in my dad’s office?”

She frowns heavily, crumpling a file with her fist. C. Firthe.  _Oh god, was that the file Fitz referred to?_ No. If it was there, why would her father keep quiet about the file? Unless he knew and was trying to protect her—making a liar out of Fitz. 

“Answer me,” Cordelia demands. She prays that Fitz isn’t right about her.

“Why, so you can lock me away while I watch the world burn?” Calista grimaces as she stares at the contraption. “That won’t hold. The fracture’s going to devour this realm like it did the last. Only I can stop it.” There’s lifelessness to her words—like she’s given up.

What nonsense was she spewing? Cordelia gasps when a loud snapping sound echoes through the room; the plexiglass container shattering into pieces as an awful howling sound tears through her eardrums. She looks at Fitz as she reaches out to grab him—a fierce suction pulls her towards the ever-growing rift. He grabs on, forcing his weight back as he manages to save her from the suction.  

He's yelling at her but she can't hear it. Nothing could attempt to overtake the horrible ringing in her ears. It didn’t do much justice—arms pull Cordelia away from Fitz’s grip—she sees Radjerd at the doorway—does he call out her name?

She can’t tell.

With an arm wrapped around her waist. Calista pulls her closer to the void—no—she tries to fight. She can’t; disorientation takes hold of her as she feels someone else try to pull at her wrist. Was it Radjerd? Fitz? Her mother?

Blackness consumes her as it did previously. An eerie calmness overtake her being as she sits in nothingness.

This must be what death is like.

It’s peaceful.

So.

Very. 

Peaceful. 


	27. Chapter 27

The soft calls of seagulls are heard before a splash of water makes it past Radjerd’s nose. He jolts awake, scraping the mound of wet sand by mistake. Confused, he leans up. He’s on the sunny waterfront of Glade Bay. It was dark, but his nose could smell the salty, stinky seaweed. The last time he checked, he was located at the Firthe Manor—but now he’s here—nowhere near the place. 

The man takes a deep breath—he buckles. His entire home—gone! His eyes mist over, his fingers gripping in the sand. He remembers what had happened, and god was it horrible. The cracks in the atmosphere still outlined in his vision—it made him sick. Radjerd blearily looks around, blinking the tears out of his eyes, letting out a hard-moaning noise as his forehead hits the sand. The thought was too hard to bear—he had never felt so many emotions at once. He was having a borderline meltdown. 

He clamours when he realizes he’s alone—Fitz was gone! They must have ended up on separate areas of town. The last he’d seen of Fitz, his hand was on the watch. Or was it Aleck? He can’t remember. His memories were fragmented—but still there. It must have been the shock to his system. It made sense but was unhelpful. He needed to remain focused.

Minutes pass before the man recollects himself, softly pushing himself upward.

He takes one palm to his forehead to catch his head from spinning.

Staggering in disbelief, he looks around him. It was incredible, this place matched his home exactly. He bristles—what was left of it—if it even still existed.

His anger returns full force.

Fitz was right—he was right this whole damn time.  

A hollow feeling circulates through him—everyone he loved and cared for—dead.

_Fitz was right about his father._

He uses his anger to propel himself forward, using the courage to pull himself from the beach. It was dark, but he’d manage.

Radjerd looks around him, the streetlights dimming with the sun. It was hitting evening time, and, he was cold from contact with the ocean. He grimaces when he realizes there was seaweed in his pocket, as he pulls out his wallet. His money was still there, as were his banking cards, although he doubted they’d work here. If he was in fact, in a parallel dimension, that means that a version of himself might exist. It wasn’t certain, but he hardly knew about time and dimensions—that was Fitz’s specialty.

Radjerd pulls out his phone—it’s either busted or the battery drained from his journey. There would be no way that he could contact Fitz from here. Maybe he should venture into town?

With a squish in his sneaker, Radjerd walks along the beachside path, decorated with dimly lit lamps. Couples, children and dogs ran along the beachfront, which the dark haired man found unusual. It seemed much quieter back home. If this place really was another version of it, there would be a small coffee shop ahead—he could use a drink.

Radjerd enters the doors, exasperation catching up with him—he glances at his reflection in the large spanning window. His dark styled hair was in tatters, still covered in sand as his violet eyes squinted—he brushes off the remains of sand in his hair—much to the displeasure of the barista who catches the display. He still had sand stuck to his tanned hand, which made his skin appear lighter momentarily until he brushed it off. He didn’t understand why the barista frowned, it was only sand…

Radjerd steps to the register. <I’d like a Berry tea—> He pauses mid-sentence. Would she be able to understand him? Fitz played translator in the shops, but now it was just him. God—how was he supposed to cope?

<It’s alright, I can speak Antillan.> The brunette girl frowns deeply. <Although I don’t know if I should serve you, considering you made a mess over my newly washed floor.>

<Sorry.> He says quietly.

She lets out a long-drawn sigh. <It’s fine, I have a three-year-old who makes bigger messes than this on the regular. What’s your name?>

<Radjerd.>

<Retgurd?>

<No, it’s pronounced RAD-YURD> He uses his hands to accentuate his pauses.

<Alright.> She rolls her eyes, Radjerd watched her brown ponytail swoosh with her movement. He grabs the nearest table, taking a spot by the oceanview. He inhales deeply, leaning back in his chair, exhaling as the fabric of his leather jacket squeaks against the back of his seat. The stars were coming out this time of night, which meant it was approaching 8 pm. His childhood friend, Freydis Raydell loved the ways the stars peeked over the horizon. She was gone, they all were. He leans his elbows on his desk, his eyes moist with tears.

<For Rad Yurd.> He jumps, completely forgetting about the server. His thoughts pulled him out of this world—which was a twisted joke. He hadn’t noticed the playful annunciation that the woman was trying to do.

<Oh, thanks.> He looks up, her brown eyes soften.

<Rough day?> He doesn’t notice he’s alone in the shop until he surveys the area.

He nods. She was only trying to be friendly.

<May I? I’m on break.> he nods again, allowing her to sit.

<Sorry if I sounded rude, my husband just called me. He was mad that I couldn’t pick up my son at daycare, and I was frustrated at him. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.>

<No worries.> He nods, glancing at her nametag as she says her name.

<I’m Noralyn, well, like the tag says.> She lets out a soft laugh. <And you’re Rad Yurd.>

<Yeah, we’ll go with that.> He smiles softly. Now that he was adjusting to his surroundings, he could admire how pretty the brunette named Noralyn is.

<You look new, did you move here recently?>

<In a matter of speaking.> Radjerd takes the opportunity to grab his cup, leisurely sipping it as he listens to her speak. He debated saying that he was visiting a friend, but that would have sounded fake. He was a horrible liar.

<Where to?—Oh, is that too intrusive? I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.>

<Nah, it’s fine. I live in town near here. Waterboard Street.> That wasn’t a lie. It’s where he would have lived if he were in his reality.

<What a nice area, I used to live there before my husband and I moved out. He’s St. Antillan, like you. If you’re St. Antillan, I only assume because you addressed me in the native tongue—I’m really bad at this, I’m sorry. When you’re a stay at home mom as long as I have been, you start to lose track of what adults sound and talk like.> She blinks. <Do you have any kids?>

<No.>

<Don’t, they’re a handful.> She laughs warily.

<Yes, I’m from the St. Antilla Islands, but moved here suddenly, due to …circumstances.> His voice trails off.

<I see. Maybe we could have been neighbours if I stayed.> She laughs, looking at her phone. <I’ll leave you be, my husband texted me. Looks like I’m going to have to call him back.> Rolling her eyes, she leaves.

He waits, stirring his tea. Taking a sip, he’s able to relax. If time really was the same here as it was back home—that would mean… Radjerd smacks the cup down on the table—He had to get to the Firthe Manor. Without Fitz, that might be a challenge, but he had to make do. He had to save his dimension from Aleck’s tyranny.

At any cost.

Radjerd collects his things, rushing out the door. Residual sand falls off of his clothing as he runs to the street. Cabs weren’t so plentiful near the beach, but he had to give it his best shot. If he could find the Aleck of this dimension, he’d be able to stop him from the heinous acts he had performed in the last.

He bolts, flagging down any yellow car he can see. Thankfully there was one near the boardwalk—he runs as fast as he can to catch up with it.

He freezes when the driver speaks—god, how was he supposed to instruct that he wanted to go to the Firthe Manor? Maybe there was a newspaper back at the café with some kind of Firthe news—he didn’t have time.

He hops out of the cab, rushing back to the Café. He hammers on the counter for Noralyn’s attention. Thankfully she was off the phone.

<Look, I need your help. I need to get to Firthe Manor—to meet Fitz.>

<Fitz?> Noralyn pipes up immediately. <I mean if you say he lives there who am I to argue?> She shrugs. <But I know how to get there—my husband will be here in five minutes. He can drive you, I’m sure of it.>

Radjerd wants to scream, but this was his best option. Either he bellowed his head off like a lunatic, or, he kindly accepts the woman’s invitation.

Thankfully, he arrives three minutes earlier than scheduled.

Noralyn peeks her head in the slick black vehicle’s driver’s seat, giving the nod for Radjerd to follow.

<You can sit in the front—my Landon’s super fussy when it comes to strangers.>

Radjerd nods, thanking her for her kind offer. He sits in the passenger’s side, his heart wildly pumping. This was his best method for reaching the manor.

<The Firthe manor, eh? What business do you have there?> The brawny man in the driver’s seat laughs. <Cordelia’s new beau? She’s got one every other week.>

Cordelia? His mind hums with recognition—that name _was_ familiar, but why? Who was her husband talking about?

<Don’t say that about her! You know Deely’s a try all in the pot kind of girl.>

<Sounds like she has commitment issues to me.>

<Mind my husband, he’s being a P-R-I-C-K.> She spells out so her son won’t catch on to her words. <Says he’s meeting a Fitz.>

The husband and wife exchange glances. If he wasn’t mistaken, they didn’t trust him.

 

About twenty minutes pass by car, as Radjerd lets himself out. He offers the couple money, but the husband refuses. Noralyn waves, asking him to say hi to a Deely, whoever that meant. That name meant nothing to him. He’s thankful that Noralyn didn’t ask too many questions about him—or she might have figured out he wasn’t visiting on good terms. In fact, she was too complacent. He better act fast, before they decide to call the cops.

Radjerd waits for the car to leave, feigning texting before the car leaves. It does, and that’s when he hears the telltale gate doors open. Shit, someone else was here! He tumbles into the nearby shrubbery,

Once the car stops, Radjerd watches as a blonde haired woman steps out—her face immediately catching Radjerd’s attention. His heart hammers against his chest as he stares—why does he feel that he knows her? Was that Cordelia? No, he’s never met her. Now he’s getting distracted.

Now, there was a blind spot that the cameras couldn’t pinpoint. He’d take advantage of that. Aleck had to be stopped. There were crevices in the wall that would lead to Fitz’s room—acting as a ladder to escape when his friend became restless. Fitz described it to be the best way to go outside to the beachfront and paint. If Fitz could climb down the wall, that means Radjerd could climb up it.

Scaling the wall, he manages to sneak into the room—but… this was _much_ …girlier than Radjerd remembers. He doesn’t take much notice of the surroundings, his mind fixed on one thing. His thoughts are interrupted when he hears two voices in the distant hallway. He leans behind the door, holding his breath when the voices stop. It might have been echoing through the front hall—regardless, that means that Aleck would be in his study. It wasn’t the same Aleck, it couldn’t have been. He would have been a lot more rushed—no, logic didn’t apply here. It was about the time of day that Aleck would have brought the watch back. If he’s lucky, Fitz would have found himself in the manor.

Under no circumstances could he let him use that watch.

Radjerd hurries in the direction of the study, taking a peek at the greetings below. He doesn’t have time to look who it is, but he sees both Aleck and a silver-haired woman downstairs—Oh god, that was the same woman in the pictures—Merise! So he was right—she _was_ alive in another dimension!

He sneaks past, the study door is leaned shut. The light’s on, but nobody could be behind that door—they were downstairs greeting the blonde woman.

It’s now or never.

Radjerd opens the door, relieved to see no one was inside. Everything in this study was identical, even to the crooked pen on the desk!

Radjerd sneaks into the coat closet of Aleck’s study, readying the pistol in his hand. When he returns, he’ll be ready for the man—the pistol sweats in his palm. He didn’t want to shoot a man, but he had to ensure that this catastrophic event wouldn’t happen again.

Radjerd can hear the door shut; his heart leaps against his chest. God, he had hidden in the nick of time., Radjerd readies his pistol when he hears footsteps approach the door. He backs up, bracing himself against the suit jackets. The door creaks open; A tall, lean man pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose, wiping strands of platinum waves from his face. His grey vest hugs his torso well, keeping his white dress shirt in place. He crosses both arms as his violet eyes narrow; he’s not phased by the weapon. <You were supposed to show up weeks ago.>

<…What are you talking about—I don’t even know you.>

<No, you wouldn’t.> He lifts his nose, tilting his chin upward. <It wasn’t as he said.>

<Wasn’t as who said?> Radjerd keeps his hand on his gun in case he had to use it.

The man in front of him grows increasingly annoyed. <Never mind that. You and I—we have a lot to discuss, so put that damn thing away. The heist—it’s not going to work in your favour. You’re going to get caught. Follow me.>  He angles his head towards the door. <Let’s go back to Cordelia’s room.>

<I can’t leave until I get that watch! Aleck—he’s going to—>

<No, he’s not. See?> The man pulls out a watch, different from the one Aleck held. Yet, Radjerd sensed this man possessed the real thing. <Now will you hurry up? The last thing we need is for both of us to get caught.> The blond gives Radjerd a look.

<Okay, _okay. > _Radjerd gruffly submits, following the man to the girly room that apparently belonged to some Cordelia. Radjerd takes to the ledge first, climbing back out the window. He’s surprised to see how adept the blond is climbing down the grooves. When both reach the ground, the man dusts off his black slacks.

<Are you sure you’re the Prime Radjerd? He cocks his head to the side. <You’re not in his clothes.>  

<Dude, what in the hell are you talking about?>

<And you don’t remember anything.> He takes off his glasses before running his hand down his face. <Great.>

<What am I supposed to remember—that Aleck destroyed my dimension? Because that’s _really_ hard to forget.>

<I don’t have time for this—> The man brings out the watch, Radjerd snatches it away before it can activate. <—Give that back— _now! > _

<Are you insane?! That watch is going to destroy everything!>

<Not if you use it properly—How do you think I got here in the first place?>

<Wait.> He keeps his arm suspended in the air, lowering it when he asks, <You travelled here using the watch?>

<Yes—please give it back. We need to get you out of here before the ripple effect continues. The effect you’ve caused will only get worse if we stay. Now come on, let’s bring you back to Cordelia.>


	28. Chapter 28

The sky above them is dark, stars littering the atmosphere. According to the man who gripped the sleeve of his leather jacket, they were in the bridge between realities. That’s all he said—the man’s attention focused on getting back to a _Cordelia._ Radjerd didn’t care about a Cordelia—he wanted to find Fitz!

<It took you what, one jump to lose your memory? That’s sad.> The man shakes his head when he comes to a halt, observing the grassy terrain ahead. <Huh, wasn’t expecting any kind of greenery here.>

<Why are we wasting time?. I need to find Fitz—I have to make sure he’s okay!>  

<God, don’t tell me you’re in love with him…if you are I _swear_ I’m going to lose it.> The blond mutters under his breath. He doesn’t turn around.

<I—That’s not what I’m getting at! Look, Aleck destroyed everything and I have no idea where Fitz is. I’m worried he’s dead!>

<He might be, but that’s not my problem.>

Radjerd’s temper fuels at the well-dressed man’s indifference. <You might not, but I do—and if you want me to travel with you, it _will_ be your problem.>

The blond man lets out a pained groan. <Hopefully when your memory comes back, you’ll see sense. You’re _not_ supposed to be with him.>

<Are you so backwards that I can’t worry about my missing friend? Seriously, you’re pissing me off.>

<Likewise.> The man curly responds. <But I’m not going to waste my time with distractions. According to my tracker, Cordelia’s nearby—but we can’t reach her yet.>

<That’s impossible—Willa Corp had no such technology.>

<Willa Corp? Oh, you’re referring to the inferior company that funded the train wreck that got us into this mess in the first place. No, my family designed this—or rather—I did, with the help of my father.>

<Your father helped you build a watch? Aleck?!—god, please don’t tell me you’re another Firthe.>

Delius raises a brow.

<Well, are you? Actually, you never gave me your name—or—should I call you _asshole? > _

The man’s expression flatlines as his tone drips with sarcasm. <Your creativity knows no bounds.> He sighs heavily, <My name is Delius—you can thank me for saving your skin, by the way.>

<That has to be a fake name.> Radjerd chuckles.

<Well, it’s a nickname if you must know, but it’s the name I prefer to go by— _regardless—_ can we stay focused?> Delius rolls his eyes as he turns around. <I’d like to leave this place as soon as we can—who knows what will happen to us if we stay here much longer.>

<Like what?>

<My only goal is to stop Cornelius, which means I need to reunite the two of you _sooner_ rather than later.>

<Why me?>

<You’re supposed to protect her.> Is all he says.

A flash hits through him; a woman with long blonde hair and steel-blue eyes captures his attention. She resembles the woman he saw in the driveway, back at the Firthe Manor.

<You remember something?> Delius stops, turning around to adjust his glasses.

<The blonde woman I saw back in the manor, she’s the one they’re looking for, right? Why not just bring me to her?>

<She’s the wrong one.> Delius shakes his head. <The one you’re looking for is here…somewhere. We won’t have much time to extract her. We’ll go insane from our brains trying to remember everything from ever reality we’re a part of, but I’m confident we’ll get to her before then. She’s not too much farther.>

<You say that like it’s no big deal.>  

<Oh, it’s disastrous. More disastrous if Cornelius gets his way—she’s the only one who tried to kill him and he’s not taking too kindly to that.>

<Wait—are Cornelius and Cordelia are they related? Their names sound so similar.>

<…Yes, it’s a legacy thing. Every second-generation is named after the grandparent _—which is utterly stupid in my opinion—_ but I’m not in charge of the naming conventions in the family.> Delius stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks around the area. <Just to clarify, no, Aleck isn’t my father.>

<But is he Cordelia’s?>

<Yes, I thought that was obvious?>

<I wasn’t sure—damn—so is she like, a female version of Fitz?>

<Sure, let’s go with it if that’ll keep you focused.> Delius clears his throat. <No, you should know a bit about what’s happening—it’s only fair. The Aleck of your dimension created a fracture that ripped through your dimension, which has caused a ripple effect—fractures will start to creep through every dimension. I come from what’s considered the _prime_ dimension, which is where Cordelia is from. You are from a surrogate dimension—branching from the prime one. When you died, you created an alternate branch of a timeline where you lived—where you met Fitz instead of Cordelia.>

 _Huh?_ Radjerd lets out a confused gasp.

<Sorry, I’ll get into details later—I _just_ got something.> Delius speeds ahead, taking the watch out again as he holds it out in front of him. The red jewel in the middle pulses.

<Is that ruby thing _really_ telling you where she is?>

<No, but it’s letting us know where a good place to warp is located. I don’t want to go dimension to dimension—we’ll leave a residue and Cornelius will be able to find us. He can’t know I’m doing this or he’ll kill me—which would be fine, but—>

Radjerd raises a speculative brow. <Please, everyone wants to live.>

<I will—if we find Cordelia first. If Cornelius kills me afterwards, that’s irrelevant. I don’t expect you’ll understand what I mean—so just chew on that tidbit for now.> He swallows before speaking, a knot catching in his throat <Cornelius…he killed my mother.>

<Shit—man, I’m sorry.> Guilt overtakes Radjerd. <I know what it feels like to lose a family member.>  

<It’s not your fault—in fact—you’re going to help me take him down, but not before we reunite you with Cordelia.>

<Can’t you travel back to the past to kill Cornelius?>

<I can’t go back to the prime dimension from here without Cornelius knowing—you can’t travel in a different point in time to another dimension if you’re not already in it. Besides, he suspects that I will—despite my attempts to persuade him that I wouldn’t.>

<What a dick…> Radjerd mutters.

<He’s beyond that.> Delius stops, his face lights up when the flicker of the jewel pulses quicker. <Ah, here’s a spot—we got to take it!> Within seconds, a red vortex materializes before them—Delius grabs Radjerd’s arm yanking him forward. <Brace yourself.>

Radjerd creases his brows when his ears pick up on a yell—a young woman’s calling his name. Before he has the chance to turn around, he’s pulled in.

***

Calista clenches the watch in her hand as she stares at the expanding beachfront of the Firthe Manor. In the corner of her eye, she witnesses Fitz sitting down, his chin on his knees as he stares out into the waves. He hadn’t said a thing to her since they arrived, and Calista is grateful for it. She didn’t mean to grab his arm—it was Radjerd’s she meant to clasp. He had forsaken all sensibilities and rushed in after the blonde; Calista instinctively reaching for the first arm she could grab. The fracture’s ungodly pull caused her to latch onto Fitz, separating her from the two she wanted to protect. Calista had woken up in the man’s arms, disgust initially crept through her body— _gross!_ She wished she could grasp onto that unpleasant thought for longer, as she found herself on a floating beachfront; a deep purple sky surrounded them. Half the Firthe manor was gone in a black shroud. Calista attempted to wake up Fitz with a curt slap to the face—but he was out cold. She could leave him here—that thought had crossed her mind—but she didn’t want to be responsible for the man’s death. Her morals were too high; she couldn’t leave the man to perish—despite if he was the cause of her father’s disappearance. It hadn’t taken long for Fitz to stir, but he remained silent when he saw where they were—refusing to speak to Calista.

Until now.

“How long have I been out?” Fitz asks quietly.

“I don’t know, but a half an hour if I can even say that—time doesn’t seem relevant here.” Calista grips her skirt.

“I see…” There’s an emptiness to his words—like he’s not fully present.

“Is this what happened to you?” She recalls the video Fitz took, her nerves spiked. This seemed worse than what he recorded.

“Hard to say.” He still sounds detached, his voice meek when he talks.

“You have to remember something. We’re stuck here.”

“Except you have your watch—the one you used to bring Cordelia back to the past with you. For all we know, that’s what could have started this whole thing.”

“Are you seriously blaming me for this?” Calista gasps in disbelief.  

“Depends…why were you in Aleck’s office?”

“Because…” She couldn’t tell him she knew the fracture would appear. Fitz would use that as an excuse to call her dangerous, proving Cornelius’s point. “I wanted to check up on the box.” It wasn’t a lie, that’s exactly what she was doing.

“How do I know you didn’t tamper with it?”

“What good would that do? Look, I’m here, aren’t I? Clearly, I wouldn’t want to sabotage my own existence!”

“Fine…I’ll give you that. But,” Fitz stops, taking a look at his surroundings. The fear in his emerald eyes returns. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know what the cause is—I really don’t.” She wasn’t lying.

“Fine, but I know for a fact that you knew the fracture would appear. There was no way you would be in Aleck’s office at just the right moment.”

“Whatever—I knew about the fracture—that’d it happen. There wasn’t anything anyone can do to stop it—I promise I didn’t do anything. It was only delaying the inevitable.”

Fitz frowns heavily as she speaks—delaying the inevitable appeared to sit with him. “You could have said something.”

“There wasn’t any point—you’d have accused me of messing with something.”

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have any reason to! There was a file left by Cornelius, _my grandfather,_ warning me about you!”

 “I’m not the one to blame—it’s you who’s going to take my dad away!”

“Yeah because I’m interested in tearing Radjerd away from his family—that’s exactly the kind of man I am.” Fitz rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“…you told him to come home with you, to leave us. That’s what my mother said.” Calista grimaces as she turns away. “She told me you convinced Radjerd to leave—that it’d be _best_ for everyone—but you had no idea what that would do to my family. My mother ended up resenting me, and she searched for him for as long as she could. When the watch was developed, she tried to use it, but it wouldn’t work for her. Turns out, Aleck sabotaged it so it wouldn’t—he didn’t want to lose his daughter. No matter the pain she caused me or the family, he was forever loyal to my mother—doing everything he could to protect her. I loved him, but he just made up excuses for why my mother acted sp poorly. I had enough—so I took the watch and fled to this time, to fix things myself. But now, I have no idea what to do!”

A large crackle in the atmosphere interrupts Calista’s speech; the two stare at the source of the noise—an ethereal glowing crack rips through the sky. Calista gasps, flinching as the sound grows deafening. She doesn’t want to die. God, she prays her watch will work now. She stares at it, the charge still fairly weak.

“I’m going to try to get us out of here.”  

Fitz looks skeptical. “You had the watch this whole time—why didn’t you use it!”

“It’s not fully charged, but it’s our best shot. Any place is better than here—just hold on or be left behind!” Calista rubs the top of the watch, activating the red jewel on top. If she can pinpoint _anywhere_ other than here…she might be able to stop it. Could she go in the past again? What if Cornelius was waiting there for her? Calista gathers her courage, “Fitz, stay close.”

Fitz doesn’t say anything, the glare on his face clear that he doesn’t trust her. However, he steps close as she holds the watch out in front of her, a circular reddish vortex appearing before them. He glances over to her—is he waiting for her to enter first? Hasn’t he done this before? It doesn’t matter, Calista steps through the vortex, hoping that there’s enough juice to get them to where they want to go. But for now, her first thought—is Radjerd.

 

Calista’s thrown to the grassy grounds, the sky above no different than it was where they first came. However, something is vastly different—there is no peering fracture—something seems…different. She hops to her feet, seeing another portal of the same colour, two men’s backs are turned to them. The tall blond man she doesn’t recognize but the dark-haired man beside him—no—that couldn’t be…

<Radjerd!> She belts out his name as loud as she can; it does nothing as the portal sucks them out of her view. _No!_ She slams her fist as she collapses to her knees. She sees Fitz lying on his back, his eyes glazed, almost as if he’s in a daze. Calista glowers as she bends down, shaking him awake.

“He was here!” Calista says in a panic. “He was right here—we have to catch up.”

“Who…?” Fitz says, but his voice is wavering.

“Radjerd— _my dad!”_ Calista growls, shaking her head. “He was here—I swear—” She stares at the spot they travelled from, a slight residue from the portal was there. She runs toward the spot, throwing her arms forward in an attempt to gain speed. Her instinct is to hold the watch in front of her as she leaps towards the pinkish mist; the watch falling out of her hands as it hits the grassy ground.

“SHIT!” A screech leaves her throat. That was the last of the juice her watch had! It’d take eons to charge back up. By then, Radjerd might be out of her reach—but Cordelia wouldn’t be—right?

But the harrowing thought is—they weren’t together.

Her window to existence was shrinking.


	29. Chapter 29

Cordelia walks along the beach—the sand half dried in her matted blonde hair. Her dress is stiff from absorbing the salty water—the fabric chafes her skin. She had woken up along the shoreline, half submerged in the water underneath the docks. Thankfully for her, a child had found her—but mistaken her for a mermaid since her hair had cascaded around her body. Confusion laced Cordelia's stare when the little girl squealed in delight—then seemingly vanishing as Cordelia opened her eyes again, finding herself on the beach. There were two lines in the sand indicating she had been dragged from the shoreline and onto a tattered beach towel. Problem is, she doesn’t remember how she got there. Did she pass out again?

Cordelia touches her cheeks, a light burn forms on her skin. She grunts as she tries to recall how she arrived, but nothing's coming to her. A faint ringing in her ears distracts her, she pinches her eyebrows together in discomfort. The beach had two other occupants, but they seemed absorbed in their own activities.

The sunset keeps Cordelia calm. The warm glow nostalgic, she's seen this place before--however—doesn’t know where from. She remembers her own name, but that was it. Her name, and this sunset.

Cordelia jumps when she feels a light tap on her shoulder; a concerned brunette woman who looked to be in her forties stares back at her. She wears a striped green bathing suit underneath a white translucent housecoat.

“I’ve been watching you comb the beach for a while. Are you alright?”

She doesn’t want to admit how she feels, feeling quite foolish about her predicament. She had to remember _something_ other than her own name. Cordelia nods frantically—not reassuring the woman at all.

 “You’re not here by yourself, are you?” The woman asks in concern.

“I…don’t know,” Cordelia says quietly.

“Let’s get you inside—poor dear—you’re probably dehydrated. That burn on your face doesn’t ease my concerns either.” The woman guides Cordelia along the sandy grass—walking across a newly constructed boardwalk. She leads Cordelia towards a small building near an even smaller parking lot—the sign above the door indicates that the place, while small, was upper-class. In cursive lettering, the sign above reads; _Oliver’s Tea Room._ “There’s not a lot to choose from, but I’m afraid I’ve run out of snacks.”

Before Cordelia has a chance to answer, she’s lead into the building. Bold orange circles are painted on the wall, matching the brightly coloured orange chairs—the small round tables a muted brown shade. A couple of people dressed in equally as bright colours are conversing amongst themselves, not paying attention to the presence of the woman, or Cordelia.   

“I’m going to get you some water of course, but would you like some tea as well?”  

 “Lemon.” Cordelia surprises herself—did she like lemon tea? Had she ever had lemon tea before? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude.”

“Not a worry, dear. Grab a seat—pick anywhere you like.” The woman pats Cordelia’s shoulder before she orders their drinks. Cordelia looks around the room for a place to sit. This place did have class—despite the over the top colourful décor. Ornate chairs line the walls to the back. Strangely enough, the sight It comforts her—bringing her some peace. It feels familiar, even though she doesn’t know why. The music plays with her imagination as she decides to sit next to the window, both the beachfront and the parking lot in view. Her rear sinks into the chair, making it hard to lean her elbows on the table. She gives up and leans back in her chair, staring up at the swirly popcorn ceiling. She doesn’t like it—it looked like the ceiling would flake up if left for too long.

The woman comes back, her amber eyes fixated on the blonde. Cordelia sits with her hands gripped at the edge of her seat—the girl leans forward in anticipation for her water and lemon tea. Taking the bottle, Cordelia downs it in half a minute. She hungrily eyes the donut in the woman’s hand.

“Would you like this? I can buy another.” Cordelia grabs it from her hand, stuffing it inside her mouth immediately. The pangs return at full force as she devours it whole.

Delicious!

“My, you’re a hungry thing. You probably don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve eaten.” She scratches her chin. “I’ll grab some more.”

Cordelia nods, barely able to savour the chocolate treat. It tasted _divine._ Cordelia leans back in her seat, feeling more relaxed than she had before. She closes her eyes, allowing her hunger to dissipate slowly. The music switches from a classical tune to a news bulletin.  

_Just In: Aleck Firthe, the young heir to Firthe Hotels has miraculously recovered from a fatal illness. Doctors were stumped on what had caused it, but are relieved to see the illness has. Relieved mother Mrs. Melody Firthe states it’s God’s Divine Will; Mr. Cornelius Firthe couldn’t comment as he had urgent business to attend to._

She doesn’t hear what else is said, fixated on the surname. _Firthe?_ Why does that name sound familiar to her?

The woman returns with a ham and cheese sandwich, looking at the blonde once again before addressing her.

“You know dear, you remind me of my daughter. Forgive me for saying so, but she’s got a stern face, just like you.”

Cordelia purses her lips. She’s not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, although the reminder makes her sad for some reason.

“What did you say your name was?” She asks with a heightened pitch to her voice.

“I’m Cordelia…I think.” She frowns—that surname she heard on the radio—it reigns familiar to her.

“Nice to meet you, Cordelia…I think.” Her grin is gentle. “I’m not trying to tease, sorry if it came off as insensitive.” Cordelia nods, she didn’t find the woman’s humour insensitive. She takes a bite of her sandwich and enjoys the taste. “After we put some food into you, how about we go to the clinic? I’d feel much better if we could have a doctor look at you. Don’t worry, my husband will cover the cost—you’re not the first stay we’ve come across.”

“Stray?” Cordelia says as she points to herself, but that just causes the woman in front of her to laugh.

“Well, not like a puppy or a cat, but it's alright. We’ll find your relatives. Now, hold on a second, I believe they got my sandwich wrong. Can you believe it? I asked for ham, not beef!” She steps up again, Cordelia nods as she watches the woman talk to the barista, but her attention shifts to a long sleek white limo—or at least, she thinks it’s a limo. It’s different than what she’s used to seeing. It parks, as a tall man in a brown, textured suit steps out, his blonde hair is gelled to the side. There’s a familiarity there when she sees his face; although he doesn’t see hers. Cordelia grabs her collar; was that her father? The man looked to be in his early fifties…he could be old enough. Cordelia’s heart races when she sees him approach the tearoom, waiting with bated breath as he walks inside.  When he removes his sunglasses, his blue eyes meet hers as a calm grin forms on his lips. The woman at the counter gawks when she sees him. Whispers abound the room of the man who had graced them with his presence.  

“Cordelia, I’ve been worried sick.” He announces like he wants the others to hear his words. “I was wondering when I’d find you.”

“You were looking for me?” Cordelia asks.

“Of course! We’re family, my dear.” His grin softens when he approaches her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Now it’s time to bring you home.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Firthe, but I didn’t know you had any female relatives.” The brunette woman pipes up. “I’ve only heard about your boy in the news.”

“It’s alright ma’am, we prefer to keep our Cordelia out of the spotlight—she’s not well. I thought it’d be nice to take her out to the beach, but she escaped on me…the poor dear’s lost herself after the accident many years ago…” Cornelius wraps her arm around Cordelia. “We adopted Cordelia under our care when her mother—my sister-in-law passed away a year ago. To lose your mother at seventeen…it’s a tragedy.”

“Oh…” Cordelia frowns. Surely, she should be able to remember a thing like that.  

“My, I had no idea…such a fragile state of mind for a young person. I’m sorry to hear, Mr. Firthe, and Cordelia, you as well.”

Cornelius glances around the room, “Now, if you all could be so kind and keep her out of the papers, you’d be doing my family a great service. With my son coming back from the brink of death, I’d like good news to surround my family during this time.” He eyes the crowd as if he’s speaking directly to them. “Please, don’t speak of my daughter to anyone…she’s already fragile enough as it is.”

“Of course, Mr. Firthe. I’m relieved to hear your boy is on the road to recovery.” Silent murmurs and nods fill the room.

“I’m blessed to have both of my children at my side—now Cordelia, let’s go home.” The man grips Cordelia’s shoulder tighter than before as he guides her out of the tearoom and to the limo. The driver gives Cornelius a nod before stepping out of the vehicle, opening the side door for Cordelia. She steps in, feeling a sense of unease as Cornelius sits next to her. “I’ll try to keep you from the limelight as long as I can, but I’ll need your cooperation. When we get to the manor, I need you to stay clear of my wife until I’m able to explain where you’ve been. She’s been worried sick.”

Cordelia frowns, attempting to remember the accident this man’s talking about. “I don’t remember any of it—the accident—or my mother…”

“Don’t strain yourself; it’s been a hectic day. Just leave everything to me…” Cornelius frowns, folding his arms as he taps his foot. “Please, be mindful before you leave the limo next time. I know you’re not well, but we can’t have others nosing in on our lives. If the press got wind of your identity, there would be a field day.” Cornelius sighs. “There might be anyway, but hopefully I can spin it to be propaganda. I don’t think I can take any more drama in this family.”

Cordelia remains silent.

“I’m surprised you’re so calm. Why is that?” He raises a brow.

“I…don’t know.”

“Are you _sure_ you don’t remember?” Cornelius’s tone lowers, almost threateningly. “Are you attempting to fool me?”

Cordelia blinks; his words striking a chord of fear within her. “No—I don’t know what you’re talking about—how would I fool you?”

The panic in her voice pleases him. “My apologies. It’s been a week…”

Cordelia didn’t remember much, but she has a nagging feeling.

She can’t trust Cornelius.


	30. Chapter 30

Calista never imagined Fitz to be reasonable. For years, she imagined him as a villainous figure who swooped in and stole her father. It’s how her mother Cordelia had described him to her after all—and because of her bias, she saw him in the same, roguish light. But the man she’s conversing with, worries for Cordelia, bearing no ill will towards her. It’s shocking, downright baffling even. Had she painted him wrong this entire time? Fitz wasn’t particularly nice, but he wasn’t rude to her either. He likely understood that being civil was better for the two of them. Maybe she should take a page from his books.

“What?” Fitz lifts a brow when he notices Calista staring at him.

“Nothing.” She sharply turns her head.

“Were you taught that staring is rude? Regardless, check if your theory is correct about the particles charging the watch.”   
It was a guess, but the particles Radjerd and that strange man left behind made the watch respond in a peculiar way. It flickered similarly to how it did when charging. Calista didn’t understand the science behind it, but it didn’t matter. As long as it charged, that’s all she’s concerned about. She bends down to pick it up, the jewel inside pulses slowly.

“Hmm.” Is all Fitz says to that? Whatever. Calista rolls her eyes as she links her arms. “Suppose I shouldn’t worry—we can assume that everything gets fixed if you’re still here—unless that’s not how this time travel stuff works. I mean, I wasn’t born in this time but you don’t see me fading away.”

“Because your parents had the chance to give birth to you.” Calista spits out before thinking. Crap.

Fitz holds a tight lip, reflecting on his words before speaking. He bears almost a nostalgic look. “That’s true, they did. But, how do you know you’re from _this_ time?”

“Because that’s the only way I could be here—you can’t travel through time unless you stick to a specific dimension.”

“Then how come Cordelia—your mother Cordelia I mean—didn’t resolve things herself? Why is it you’re here trying to get Radjerd back?”

“Because my mother made a habit of making her problems my own—when she wasn’t so lost in them herself,” Calista says with a huff.

“Ah.” Calista misses his sympathetic glance.  “And, I suppose, she already exists during this period of time—so the results could have been unpredictable.”

He’s right. Calista nods her head. “That too.”

“For what it’s worth, I understand how you feel. _My_ Aleck, when my mother died, made everything about her—so much so he didn’t seem to understand why I wanted to leave home. He thought we had a great relationship because he thought he was doing it for me. I missed my mother, sure, but I would have fared without her—I had to learn to cope without him too. When I met Radjerd…” His frown turns into a smile. “When I met him, he was uncouth and rough around the edges. A real brute, rude too. But it was refreshing. Everyone was kind to me because of who I was—I’m sure you understand what that’s like—being a Firthe and all. He wasn’t. When I was a rude ass hat, he’d call me out on my shit. Crazy that, I’d kick him in the teeth if he tried that stuff now. But back then, I could tell that when he warmed up to me, it was genuine. I didn’t care that he was a criminal—he turned into a right marshmallow when I got past his defences.” Calista scrunches her nose at the terminology. “What I mean to say is, Radjerd made my life a lot less lonely. He’s not family, my mother, or father, but a friend who cared. Do you have any people like that back home?”

“One person, yeah. But that was two years ago—once he went to college that was it for us. He was a friend of my mom’s—we were friends since we were babies.” Calista pauses, her eyes growing wide when she realizes that _friend_ of hers wouldn’t be even a year old yet. She shudders at the realization. “Mom never really let me leave the house, so it’s not like I had the chance to make many friends.”

“And how does Radjerd change this outcome?” Fitz asks while scratching his chin.

“Well, our problems stem from his absence. If he never left, my mother would have a reason to smile, a reason to be happy. I wouldn’t have reminded her of what could have been. Maybe she would have loved me.”

Fitz closes his eyes, his breathing grows quiet. “My father said the same—bringing my mother back to life would fix all of our problems, but, one must wonder if that’s true. Maybe both my Aleck and your Cordelia wouldn’t change.”

  
“It’s not the same! My father didn’t die!” Calista erupts, his words hitting a nerve. “ _You_ were the one who took him away from us!”

“Again?” Fitz shrugs his shoulders. “Look, I’m getting impatient with constantly being blamed. Even if some version of me purposely took Radjerd from you—I’m not rehashing this conversation.” His tone is as chilling as it is sharp.  It shuts Calista up.

She frowns, staring at her feet. He’s the one who screwed her life up, not the other way around! He didn’t have any grounds to be angry; she did.

An uncomfortable silence brews between them as they sit in the grassy, cosmic field. Calista’s resting her chin on her knees while Fitz rubs his hands. Sulking is clearly a family trait.

  
“How do we fix this…?” Fitz speaks first.

“That…I don’t know.” Calista says with sheepishness.

“So you’re worried about what I might do...when there are worse problems sitting in front of us...”   
  
“I thought you didn’t want to speak of it anymore?” Calista crosses her arms as she narrows her eyes. “Considering that you’re the one who thinks I will destroy everything, you have no right to scold me.”   
  
“You’re barely an adult...I can see that now. I may have been foolish in jumping to conclusions about you—you were hurt  the same way I was.”  
  
Tears breach Calista’s eyes as a lump in her throat forms, but she fights the urge to give in.

“I’d much prefer to work with you to get out of this mess.” Fitz extends out a hand to her. “You promise to not be a threat, and I’ll promise to keep Radjerd by your side.”   
  
Calista smiles softly as she takes his hand, giving him a hearty shake. Her heart didn’t fully trust him, but one thing’s for sure. If they were to get out of this mess, they needed to work together.

***

<We’re back in Glade Bay?> Is all Radjerd can say when they arrive on the sandy outskirts of a dated looking beachfront. There are fewer cars—all of them a lot larger than he remembers. Everyone’s in brightly dressed swimsuits, their hair either in waves, or possibly, perms. It’s like they took a step back into the past. It’s unreal.

<Yes, I’m surprised you’re able to remember where this is from your foggy memory—you’re probably cloudy from short term more than anything else. My mistake, should have come to that conclusion.> The snarky Delius turns around, pushing up his glasses as he brushes a stray blonde hair back into place. <As for you, expect to get a lot of stares. Your hairstyle is…different.> His tone is dry as it is unpleasant. Radjerd pulls a face.

<Speak for yourself; who wears a dress suit at the beach?>

<Dress suit?! It’s business casual!> Delius presses his brows together as he turns around, raising his chest as he does his best to keep his posture firm. The sand was making it hard for him to keep his footing straight, much to Radjerd’s amusement. Hard to act so prim and proper now, isn’t it? Serves him right for being so judgemental.

Radjerd walks up next to him, taking his time smirking in the blond’s direction. There’s a certain snobbishness he recognizes. It reminds him of someone, although he’s not sure who. He keeps this pace until they reach the sandy grass, near a building called Oliver’s Tea Room. He notices Delius taking a long reflective look at the name, a brief smile flashing on his lips before returning to his signature frown. His stark, violet eyes challenge Radjerd’s own.

<Did anyone tell you staring is rude?> Did anyone tell him that his tone of voice was grating? _This_ is the character he would be…all right then. Radjerd stuffs his hands in his pockets before his eyes catch on a red balloon, tousling in the wind ahead of them. Whatever kid lost that would be quite upset.

<You think Cordelia is in there?> Radjerd sighs, his eyes still on the balloon ahead. He wonders if it’ll get to cross the ocean. <In that small building?>

<I don’t think so—but the tracker brought us here—so she has to be here somewhere.> He sighs despondently. <Maybe we can ask around.>

<Alright.> Radjerd shrugs, the balloon now too far for him to focus on. He steps forward, opening the door as he surveys the area. The taste of Berry Tea came to mind, but they probably didn’t have it here. In fact; he wouldn’t likely be able to speak St. Antillan here—judging by the weird looks, and predominantly pale folk staring back at him in surprise—there weren’t many St. Antillan residents at all.

He’s surprised when he hears Delius’s voice say, <Want anything?>

<A sandwich, if they have any.> Radjerd says, but in a whisper to keep the others from noticing. They do anyway, one woman glowering at them in particular when Delius pulled closer.

<Right.> He turns around to order in Weltish, the predominant, _acceptable_ language here. He was learning the language—but got sidetracked when he got displaced in the universe. A sandwich—ham and cheese—for Radjerd while Delius got a dainty tea mug filled with the blackest liquid substance he’s ever seen. <Go find a seat.>

<Are you sure—we're getting stares.>

<Ah, suppose you’re right. Well, as long as the old ladies don’t hit us with their purses we should be fine.> He laughs. <Glad I thought ahead and found some old bills—can’t very well give them my card can I?>  

Was that his attempt at humor? He wasn’t very good at it.

Once they grabbed a seat, Delius takes a sip of his black muck—he swears he can see an outline of the drink on his lips. <After our break, I’ll see about asking if anyone’s seen a blonde-haired woman to Cordelia’s description. I have a feeling it won’t be easy though, given that you look like a thug.>

<Excuse me?!>

<Your shaved haircut doesn’t help.> Delius says before taking a sip of his drink. <I didn’t think this through very well.>

<You shut up.> Radjerd growls. There was nothing wrong with his hair.

Delius rolls his eyes. <It’s a rather easy solution, really. You leave the premises; I ask the questions.> Delius puts down his teacup on the saucer and gives him a sarcastic, yet polite grin. <That easy enough to comprehend?>

<You’re a bastard.>

<Yes, I suppose I technically was, as your daughter—erm—> Delius isn’t able to save himself from that—the instant look of regret of his face as Radjerd stares him down.

 <My _what? > _

Delius rubs out the light forehead wrinkles over his brow. <Your daughter…> Good, he seems wise enough to know he can’t bullshit his way out of this one. But, that leads to a list of other questions—he had a daughter?   
  
<You're joking,> 

<I'm not.> He gets visibly uncomfortable. <Most people have children as they age—even if it's unintentional.>

Radjerd freezes; a girl with dark hair comes to mind—tall, with doe eyes that were large and wide. <What does she look like?>

<She’s tan, but lighter than you. Her hair is dark, long, and she’s tall.> He grips the teacup, his voice wavering. <If we don’t find Cordelia, we have no hope of saving her either.>

<My daughter, you mean…> Radjerd trails, the picture of the girl in his head becoming clear. <It might sound ridiculous, but I think I know who you mean. I met her—I think. But, she's older—she looked grown up.> This was fucking with his head.

<So you met her then?> A sigh of relief washes over Delius, his violet eyes twinkling with what Radjerd would place as hope.

<I think so...god, I don't know! I can hardly remember anything—so you better explain what you mean right now!> Radjerd hammers the table with his palm, causing Delius's black mucky tea to spill over the rim.  
  
<Keep your voice down!> Delius hisses in a whisper, <You're scaring the ladies.>   
  
<Then bloody tell me what's going on.>

<Radjerd, this isn’t something you want to press me about.> Delius grows increasingly worried. <You’ll be distracted, and we will get nowhere with having your head somewhere else. We need to keep focused, focused, focused.> It sounds like more of a reminder to Delius than Radjerd, but he doesn’t care.

<Either you tell me, or we can forget about Cordelia.> Radjerd gets up—he doesn’t have any better options; Delius would know that. Yet, he’s surprised when the blond lets out a loud, very shaky sigh.

<Sit down.> Is all he says. Radjerd listens; it sounds like a sigh of resignation.

He begins; <I know this because your daughter…she’s my mom.>


	31. Chapter 31

<What?> Radjerd says incredulously. He has the right to be confused, both claims were absurd. That would make this utterly rude, snobbish man his grandson—which couldn’t be true. No, this was bullshit—he didn’t have a daughter. Or—god—a grandson. 

<My mother, if you’ve misheard me. That would make us relatives—close relatives, in fact. We needn’t dwell on it surely—it will not make much of a difference.> 

<Like hell it doesn’t.> Radjerd presses his fingers to his brows, letting out a long sigh. <You’re not the one who has lost their memories—there’s no way someone like you is…well…you know.> 

<Nice to know how loved I am.> Delius rolls his eyes as he utters his sarcastic line. <Anyway, now that we have that out of the way, can we proceed?> What an ass…acting like all of this is normal. He could hardly remember much of the girl he claimed to be his daughter—god knows if this man was telling the truth. If he hadn’t experienced dimension travel, there would be no claim to the blond man’s words. <Right, now that we have this grievous reveal out of the way, shall we continue?> 

<As in, you want me to pretend you’re not my grandson—yeah I can manage that just fine.> Radjerd stops for a second when a hollow pang hits his stomach. Delius said his mother died at the hands of Cornelius. Radjerd holds his gaze on Delius, who raises a brow at the dark-haired man’s sudden speculation. Maybe it was for the best that he couldn’t put the pieces together. 

<Radjerd, you’re the one who asked me.> Delius crosses his arms in offence. 

<No, you’re the one who slipped—god—nevermind.> Radjerd stands up, pushing his chair back as he leaves. <Might as well see if the others know about Cordelia’s whereabouts—you said it yourself that I look too much like a thug—so outside I go.> Radjerd rolls his eyes as he excuses himself from the table. His thoughts are pulled in two entirely different directions he leaves Oliver’s Tea Room—memories he doesn’t identify right away to be so until a nostalgic pang hits him. 

He used to come to the beachfront with Fitz. Fitz, the man who had tried to make the best of his predicament—even though their home had been demolished. 

No, that doesn’t make sense—Radjerd hadn’t found Fitz yet. Had he? A flood of memories rush to him—the fracture splitting Aleck’s office apart—Fitz collapsing to his knees when he saw Radjerd at the foot of the Firthe Manor, relieved to see him alive. Radjerd freezes; his body is stiff with recollection. Bits and pieces are coming back to him—but it stops. He accidentally puts off two customers—which—with his brooding expression and hunched shoulders—his thuggish appearance holding true. 

Dammit, Delius. Why did he have to be right? Speaking of, Radjerd peers through the window while trying to maintain an air of anonymity—but that wasn’t working very well. One of the old ladies was staring at him through their thick-rimmed glasses—like they knew he wasn’t trustworthy. 

Judgemental old hag. 

With clenched fists, he paces away from the window but sees Delius surveying the old women—who appeared to be taking pleasure in whatever conversations they were having. His grandson, apparently. There’s no way a grandson of his would have such a pale makeup.  Platinum blonde hair, and even lighter skin—it reminded him more of Cordelia…

Cordelia…wait…

Radjerd blinks as he feels his heart race. Cordelia—the blonde he met at Firthe Manor. Someone he met in Aleck’s study—the woman he threatened with a gun. The woman who he exchanged intel for a date—who had straddled him in a kiss—he grasps his knees as he inhales it all in. The worst of it is—he remembers how he got displaced—the fracture destroyed Cordelia’s dimension too—and Fitz, Cordelia, Calista…are lost in time. 

Calista, being the mother of Delius—who was surveying the older residents in Oliver’s Tea Room. If that’s true—that means Calista gets murdered by Cornelius. 

He wants to scream. Punch something. It makes him want to curl up; the anxiety is too much for him to bear. He doesn’t notice how much time passes, missing the legitimate concern on Delius’s face as he exits the building. 

<What’s the matter?> Delius asks, Radjerd swearing he could hear some worry in his tone. 

<I…remember it all.> Radjerd says shakily. 

<I’m sorry you had to.> Is all Delius offers. He switches the subject. < I know where Cordelia is now—but—we might have trouble getting to her.> 

<Why?> 

<She’s in the presence of Cornelius—that Cornelius.> He didn’t think Delius could turn whiter—he looks just as Radjerd feels. 

<Once I get my hands on the bastard—I’ll kill him.> 

<I couldn’t agree more.> Delius frowns, anger bubbles from his throat. <He needs to pay for the grief he’s caused.> 

For once, they’re on the same page. And rightfully so.

<How do we get to the Firthe Manor?> Radjerd asks. 

<I was hoping you’d know, considering that’s where I found you.> He had gotten a drive from Noralyn, the barista who worked there…or thinks he did. Both of the timelines he remembers blend in a mess of thoughts. 

<I talked my way into getting a cab, but I doubt that will work here. Maybe you can; the Laurius’s always had the gift of gab. I’m sure you learned something from me.>  

Radjerd sees Delius bristle; a pained look crosses his face. <Can’t say I did.> The expression he wears shows there’s more than he’s admitting. Something he definitely doesn’t want to discuss. Radjerd will let it slide—not only for Delius’s sake but his own. He’s sure the news isn’t good, and he’s not willing to bring it to attention. <It’s out of the question—we must find another way.> Deel ponders while he looks at the parking lot. <Surely you can hotwire one of these vehicles.> 

Now, where has he heard that one before?

<Do I look like someone who knows how to do that?> Radjerd half-shrugs.

<God dammit.> Delius curses under his breath. <Can you try?> 

<Wow.> is all Radjerd can say. 

<Out of the two of us, you’re the one with the record.> 

<How presumptuous of you.> Radjerd mocks Deel’s accented tone. <Regardless, what were you able to find out? I know Cordelia’s at the manor, but..?>

<One lady told me to be careful, that Cornelius didn’t seem so trustworthy—he told everyone in the tea room to keep Cordelia’s identity a secret—claiming that Cordelia was his niece, who he adopted as his own daughter. He also claimed she wasn’t mentally stable.> Delius scratches his chin. <What do you make of that?> 

<And Cornelius expected that a group of strangers would keep that secret?> 

<I don’t know what he’s thinking.> Delius says with a grudge to his tone. <The Firthes are celebrities in the area—it’s hard for them to makeshift any lie without significant proof. If Cordelia lost her memory—and from the sounds of things, she did—then she’s at the mercy of his influence.>

That line made Radjerd sick.

<We have to get there—fucking hell—Delius, get transportation. Only you can do it—no one here speaks Antillan.>

<I’ll see if I can get a cab—I should have enough money to get us near the gate. We can walk from there—I know the way.>

So did Radjerd, but he said nothing. They had no time to waste.

***

The bedcovers were a bright shade of salmon, laced with frills and a satiny trim, draped underneath a translucent lacy canopy. The curtains were the same pale salmon colour as her bedsheets. It’s utterly revolting—not her taste at all! Except, he claimed that she had liked the shades of this room. Everything else was fine—the white stained wooden bedroom furniture having a classy taste to it. But when she looks outside, there was no beachfront to stare at. Just the driveway. Why did she have a nagging feeling that her room faced the ocean?

Cordelia stares at her lap, the assortment of light snacks on the pastel floral tray didn’t appeal to her. Cornelius had instructed that she eat in her room until he conversed with his wife—god knows how long that’d take. Not feeling hungry, Cordelia places the tray on the bedside table, walking towards the window. She shouldn’t complain about the view; the fountain was lovely.

Cordelia walks to the closet, her dress still stiff from the ocean. She opens the door, frowning at the dresses—bold floral prints, all long and sleeveless. Cordelia doesn’t remember liking long dresses—she didn’t like the idea that she would catch the ends with her toes. She takes one of the robin-egg blue dresses from the silver clothes hanger, the floral print subdued on this one—thankfully. The waist looks too small from what she could see, but this was one of her dresses, so it should fit. Cordelia slips out of her clothes, stepping into the dress with precision—it catches at her hips—this dress is definitely too small for her. Sighing, Cordelia lets it fall to her feet as she tries on the others—the only one that fit was a white, short sleeved dress with embroidered flowers lacing the front. It made her look like a tea cover—but at least it stretched around her body.

She hears a soft knock on the door. Panicked, she’s not sure if she should rush back to her bed or not—but it doesn’t matter—the person lets themselves in.

It’s her uncle Cornelius.

“How are the sandwiches?” He invites himself into the room as he eyes her full plate. “Not to your liking?”

“It’s not that—I ate at the tea room.” Cordelia says, feeling a hint of nerves crawl up her spine.

He takes a seat on her bed, staring at her with curiosity. “We can get it put away. Now, I’ve talked to your aunt about your return—she’ll be more than happy to see you. She would have come now, but she’s tending to your cousin Aleck. Please don’t make your presence known to him—at least until he can freely leave his room.”

Cordelia nods slowly.

“Now, there’s one other matter I wanted to address. Listen carefully—I don’t want you to leave the manor. We’ve had a disturbing amount of break-in’s, and the last thing I’d want is for you to be kidnapped again.” He raises a brow when Cordelia’s face scrunches up in confusion. “You don’t remember…”

No, she didn’t. It felt like he was making this up.

“God only knows what people will do for money, my dear. But now that you’ve been seen at the beach—you might be sought out again. There’s this dark-haired man from St. Antilla that’s been in the news lately—and word is that he might have seen you. If you spot him in the manor at all—make sure you alert someone right away.”

“But—we’re so far from the beach—how is he going to find his way out here?”

“You’d be surprised what a lust-lorn individual would do—pardon me for the language.”

He wasn’t making sense, but thinking about getting kidnapped scared her to her core. He nods as she lets out a squeak. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe as long as you follow my directions. Now, this is what you’ll do…”


	32. Chapter 32

Calista and Fitz stare at the watch; her theory was working—the jewel in the middle pulses to a different tempo—similarly to how it did when it charged. She wishes she knew how long they’ve sat for—and—if the watch was charging. She leans over to it, but it hesitant to touch the watch. 

“You said it needed to sit for a while.” Don’t fiddle with the watch is more what his expression says. At least he’s trying? “It makes sense—the fabric is weakest where there was once a portal—but I do not understand how it’s charging the thing. Should have paid attention to my father when he had his watch built.” 

“I don’t know either—but I had a hunch. Maybe I heard it before—I don’t know.” Calista ponders through her memory—she had to have heard it somewhere. It’s not like she had formal training in time travel—especially when she booked it out of her grandfather’s study that night. Was it luck that the watch had brought her so close to Radjerd? What had she done differently this time that she didn’t do the last? 

“I hope we can leave soon; this place is bringing back memories.” She hears the anguish in his voice this time around—was it always there? 

“That video was scary.” 

“Yeah.” He lets out a shaky sigh. “I still can’t believe it. There has to be some way to reverse all of this—if we could go back in time to when the first instance started, we might save those dimensions.”

Calista tries to stay focused. Those words don’t sit well with her—reversing time could mean that she’d be erased from existence. Not that she had a chance of existing now—with both Cordelia and Radjerd being so far apart from each other, she’s fucked. 

No…that’s an even worse thought to have. Okay. Calista clears her throat. “Give it another ten minutes, then we’ll try again.” 

Fitz nods his head. 

 

The watch feels cool in Calista’s sweaty palms. Nerves bubble in her throat as the reality settles in—they’re still displaced between dimensions. “The watch’s centre pulses when it could sense who I was looking for. It brought us to Radjerd the first time—hopefully, it’ll do it again.”

“I hope you’re right.” Is how Fitz responds, his focus scattered. His concentration seemed to lessen the longer they stayed here. They needed to leave—find some dimension to park in for the time being. She hates that she made it sound so casual—this wasn’t normal. But what could she do? Her hands tremble when she holds the watch—doubt clouding her mind. She needs to centre…centre…be calm. She stares at it again, asking the watch the obscured question—as it the watch had ears.

Where was her father? And if it knew—please, bring him to her. She wanted nothing more in this world than that. 

Calista prepares herself for the watch to activate. She looks over, signalling to Fitz to come over. He nods, stepping over as the watch forms a circular portal. Fitz covers his ears from the high pitched screeching sound. Calista doesn’t know why, but the sound stopped bothering her. She leads him inside, bracing herself for the bumpy ride. 

Within moments; they stare at the back of an ivory wall. 

Fitz’s fingers clenched against the chalky surface. Both Firthes pause, recognizing the structure and texture of this building. 

It’s the manor. 

“I don’t know if I can take another Firthe Manor.” Fitz says with exhaustion. Calista can’t blame him. This would be her third Firthe Manor visit—and she’s not sure she wants to identify the timeframe. The past was hard enough when she had Cordelia with her. Fitz might be more of a challenge—especially since he wasn’t family—technically.

Or was he? 

Ugh. 

“Radjerd’s supposed to be here then..?” Fitz looks up at the tall structure, covering his face from the residual sunlight. It’s evening, but the sun is still bright. They were next to the beachfront, Calista discovers as she turns around. She was mute to the crashing waves; growing up around them, it had become second nature to expect the sound. When her mother had paid attention to her, she’d sometimes take Calista to the shore—but that was a long time ago. 

“Shall we sneak on in then? I assume you know the window trick.” 

“I do.” Calista beams, the small similarity her and Fitz have gives her some comfort. He gestures forward to let her lead the way. She takes it; her feet tingling with apprehension when she walks toward the beachfront side of the manor, where Calista’s bedroom used to be. Calista stops mid-track when she hears an unfamiliar voice—Fitz bumping into her shoulder. He curses loudly, eliciting a harsh hushing sound from Calista’s lips. 

“Don’t give us away!” She scolds harshly. “There are voices up ahead, can’t you hear them?” 

“If you didn’t stop so suddenly—” He stops, quickly shutting up when he hears the dull sound of a male voice—his fingers grip around the corner. 

Calista widens her eyes—both men have their backs turned, but there’s no mistaking who they are. It worked! She found him! 

Calista watches as Radjerd whips his head around, the surprise (and relief) on his face is hard to miss. She thinks he’s said her name, but it’s hard to tell—she flings her arms around the man, holding him tight. 

<I didn’t think it’d work—but it did!> She erupts in glee. <The watch—it brought me here…> but how did you—?> 

<It was Delius—> He gestures to the blond, but looks away before adding <—a friend who also…has a watch.> His voice gets distant when Fitz makes his presence known, Calista watches as Radjerd whizzes past her.

“…If I didn’t know better, I’d say the two were an item.” The man named Delius speaks with a hint of sarcasm; she notices that he doesn’t look in her direction, his face angled away from her. 

Maybe he’s shy.

“I didn’t get to introduce myself—I’m Calista.” She sticks out her hand, but nothing. The man seems repulsed by her introduction. All right then…

The man flinches when he realizes his rudeness. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend—I’m…surprised that you know him.” His voice reaches an awkward tone. 

“I do—actually—I think I saw the two of you earlier.” In that strange area stuck between dimensions—whatever she could call it. She supposes she can’t just outright ask him—it’d be too weird. But how was she supposed to follow up with what she had just said?

<I’m a traveller just like you it seems.> Delius pushes up his glasses. 

Calista blinks. “That can’t be possible—only the Firthes can travel—” She stops. 

“You know, there are other families that understand time travel.” His laugh borderlines between nervous and playful. <But yes, I have a watch that can manipulate dimensions. As do you, I assume.” So, he also used a watch? Calista can’t wrap her head around the idea that there are other travellers like her. 

“How did you meet Radjerd?” 

“I came across him in my travels.” He says frankly. “He was concerned about you.” 

A grin escapes her lips. It’s nice to hear that someone cares. 

“May I ask why you’re here?” 

“I’m looking for someone named Cordelia.” 

Calista sucks in her breath. she squeaks, “Cordelia Firthe?”  

Radjerd and Cordelia here in the same dimension—god—she’s fortunate. Maybe she wasn’t fucked after all. 

“A man named Cornelius took her—do you know him?” 

“I do.” She says flatly, masking her immediate fear. 

“Then you know how dangerous he is. Don’t let him spot you.”

Delius didn’t need to tell her that. She stares at the man again with more suspicion. His blonde hair, pale complexion and…were his eyes a blue colour—or violet. 

Calista jumps when she hears Radjerd’s voice behind her. <How are we doing this?> 

<Since Cornelius is up there, we should stick together. I’m suspicious he up and took Cordelia like that—it makes me wonder if he’s expecting us.> The man named Delius ponders. Obviously, he knew how to speak Antillan if Radjerd was travelling with him, but it was a surprise to hear. His focus turns to Calista, he still adapts the Antillan language. <You should stay here.> 

Calista opens her mouth to protest, but is quickly interrupted by Radjerd. He agrees with Delius’s suggestion. Well…it’s not like she wanted to be the first to encounter the man. Calista concedes, and steps back, looking at the window. It’s open slightly, but it was easy enough to get around. The latch is easy to dismantle. 

Fitz is the first who scales the wall, Radjerd follows, then Delius. Now, it’s her turn as she feels for those familiar grooves. Pulling herself up, Calista smiles. It’s like nothing changed. 

By the time she catches up with them, the window was already open. Fitz and Delius climbed through, but Radjerd waits for her to catch up before he follows in after them.

Toy cars, stuffed animals and a roadside play mat are the first things Calista notices when she enters the room. This was a child’s playroom—a boy’s if she were to guess. The four of them freeze when the door opens. All of them freeze before they see a blond, well-dressed child with big, steel-blue eyes stare back at them. A soft gasp leaves the boy’s lips, but he doesn’t seem scared. Instead, he looks at them in confusion.

“Hello?” The big-eyed boy steps closer, not speaking to any of them in particular. “Are you here to take me back home?” 

The four adults in the room are afraid to speak, but Fitz steps forward—thank god. 

“Yes.” Fitz calmly says as he kneels down. He’s clearly uncomfortable, and the boy sees that—his posture stiffening from the interaction. 

“I miss home.” The boy says without acknowledging Fitz. “I woke up here, but it’s not home. I want to go home!” 

“Where is home?” Fitz stares at the child. 

“Not here.” His tone is somber. 

“Then where is it?” Fitz asks again, impatience creeping into his tone. He doens’t speak; his eyes growing wider when a woman’s voice enters into earshot. 

“Aleck?” The voice asks. “Sweetie, it’s time for your medicine!" 

…Aleck, as in…her grandfather? But the kid didn’t look older than a nine-year-old! 

“Don’t tell them I’m here.” He whispers like he’s frightened, burying his small body within the mountain of stuffed animals. The others find areas of the room to hide. Radjerd brings Calista to the closet with him, closing the door while Fitz and Delius scramble to find a hiding place. Calista can’t see where the other two have hidden, but footsteps stop moving when the door creaks open. 

“Aleck? You’re not supposed to leave your room; you know how your Daddy hates it when we disobey orders.” Judging by that haunting line, that has to be his mother. The woman’s footsteps pace towards the stuffed animals—she said nothing about Fitz or Delius, thank god. Calista hears woman rustling the stuffed animals out of the way as she fights with the child—the audible slap of his hand makes Calista jump. 

“I don’t want a shot!” 

Shot—as in a needle? Calista had heard stories where Aleck was sickly in his youth, but the child looked healthy to her. 

“The shots will stop the nightmares, sweetie. It’s making you believe awful things—”

“But I don’t belong here—I want to go home!” 

“That’s not true! You’re only confused because you want to get better.”

“No I’m not! You kidnapped me!” The boy’s voice rages; Calista’s ears ring. Radjerd flinches beside her. “I want to go home—now!” 

The boy named Aleck screeches when they hear more footsteps enter the room; the woman kindly asking whoever’s followed them to pin him down—screaming louder that he won’t take the shot. Calista shivers at the height of the boy’s voice; it’s horrible. 

Suddenly, it stops. 

“Cornelius says he’s all better, but his mind is that of a child who’s gone insane—Leonard, are you sure these injections are helping him? I don’t want my own son to fear me.” 

“Mrs. Firthe, Aleck’s been with us for over a year; his recovery is miraculous—isn’t it?” 

“Yes—and I’m grateful for what you’ve done—even if I wasn’t in agreement at first; but his memories seem off. He talks about being from a different world.” 

“That’s just child’s play. He’s never left our facilities.” Why does Calista feel like that’s a lie? “Let’s bring him to his room before your husband finds out—I’d rather him not hear of this incident. I told them they’ve stopped; thinking I might have to up the dosage.” 

“But…” The woman’s voice wavers, but it falls to an agreement shortly. “Fine. Whatever will help my son rid him of his terrors.” Footsteps leave the room when the door closes behind them. 

<Are they gone?> Radjerd whispers, Calista being reminded that he wouldn’t have understood a word Aleck and his mother had said.

<I think so.> She whispers in Antillan before they leave the confines of the closet. She discovers that Delius had made his home under a draped decorative curtain; while Fitz was already in the centre of the room. Both of them shared the same worried face she did. 

What the hell just happened? 


	33. Chapter 33

“That was disturbing…” Fitz says quietly as he meets eye contact with both Calista and Radjerd. 

“They weren’t gentle with the boy, that man pinned him down quite aggressively,” Delius adds, stroking his chin. “I can understand that children don’t like taking shots, but the boy was against it so viciously.” 

“No kidding—he was screaming bloody murder.” Fitz ponders. “Delius—if you don’t mind me using your name, Radjerd introduced you to me unofficially—it’s like the kid said, he didn’t want the shot.” He looks at Calista intently. “That kid is Aleck—I don’t remember my father saying he was sick, but I know he was in the timeline you’re from. If we’re here, that means this reality hasn’t been destroyed yet.” He pauses thoughtfully, “What do you remember Aleck telling you?” 

“He didn’t say much about his illness, but he did tell me he didn’t feel like he belonged in this time—or dimension, rather.”

“So this Aleck was brought back from a different dimension?” Fitz reflects. “I wonder why.” 

“Cornelius told me—when I travelled with Cordelia—that he tried to prevent Aleck from making the same mistake he saw in your timeline—by exchanging them.” At least, that’s what she remembered. Calista was too frightened to retain too much after being captured by Cornelius. “He didn’t have the heart to kill his own son—but apparently doesn’t share the same reservations for his great-granddaughter.” 

Delius flinches at that comment. He switches the subject, “It looked like some blue liquid they injected into Aleck, but I’m not too sure what it was. It knocked the kid out pretty fast though.” 

Calista glances at Radjerd, who pouts from the interaction. Right, he couldn’t understand Antillan. She’s surprised he stayed quiet the entire time. Maybe he was as bewildered as the rest of them. 

<We shouldn’t stay here too long—we need to find Cordelia and get out of here.> Fitz changes the language so Radjerd can understand. <Rad, come with me. Calista, you should follow us.> 

Delius intervenes, <Actually, I need to talk to her—we’ll catch up—she knows the layout of the manor, so I’ll be fine.> 

<I don’t know—what do you think?> Fitz looks skeptical but leaves it up to her to decide.  

Calista looks to Delius, then back to Fitz. <I think it’s okay.> 

Radjerd stares at Delius, but doesn’t say anything. <I don’t want to leave them behind.> 

<Calista can look out for herself—we need to go before someone else comes back. We can’t stay together as a group or we’ll get caught.> 

Radjerd frowns as he glances from Calista to Delius. He nods at the man before heading out with Fitz. What was that about?  

Calista glances at Delius, awkwardness settling in as she looks at him. He’s not too much taller than her, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. She was six feet tall after all 

“What do you need to ask me?” 

“It’s about why you came back into the past,” Delius says frankly. 

Calista corrects him, “We all came back to the past.”

“You know what I mean—I know you’re from the future. Radjerd told me everything.” 

She sucks in her breath. “He did?” 

“Yes. I know why Cornelius brought Cordelia here—he plans to kill Cordelia to eradicate your existence.” 

Cornelius…what?! Calista struggles to keep her head level, her fingers gripping to her side. To kill Cordelia would wipe out her existence guaranteed—and he’s in her grasp—god!   

“That’s an absurd claim. How do you expect me to believe that?” 

“I was working with him—I didn’t have a choice. He killed someone very close to me, and I’m trying to prevent it. If we can save Cordelia...” His tired, violet-hued eyes stare at her in helplessness. They’re striking—and very familiar. “You need to stay out of sight. He won’t hesitate to kill you outright.” 

“But I can’t just let him do this—” Calista boils with anger. “Don’t ask me to stay out of this.” 

Delius nods, “I’ll need your help, but not until I give the all-clear. Once I see him, I will convince Cornelius to let Cordelia go for a promise. If we do, you return to your time immediately. The fractures are causing an effect throughout the universes—because of Aleck’s mistake. There is one way to stop this, if we can get Radjerd and Fitz to go back to their dimension and stop Aleck from making that mistake—we might save everyone. It’d be a risk—but you’d still be alive, and…” His eyes get misty.

Calista doesn’t hear him—she immediately burns with disdain for the blond man. “It wasn’t Fitz at all I had to worry about—it’s you!” She points a finger at him. “You’re the one who forces them home—you’re the reason I don’t have my father!” 

“No, you’re not hearing me. Everything will cease to exist—You coming back in time to prevent Radjerd from leaving this dimension is unravel the fabric of time itself—that’s why Cornelius wants to prevent your existence from happening!”

“I didn’t risk it all to just go home, Delius. I don’t care who you are.” She growls, stepping towards him. He purses his lips, but doesn’t lose his concentration on her. “I am not losing my father—not after what I lived through!” 

“You had a damn good life from what I recall.” Delius shoots back. “I never had my father—I didn’t need him! I had a good life—thanks to you!” 

Calista’s face contorts in confusion. “I said?” 

Delius growls, “Forget it. I’m not letting Cordelia die here today—and you will make things right with Cornelius. You will tell him you will not mess with the past. I don’t plan to let him go for his actions if that’s what you’re worried about.” He points to his pocket as he pulls out a small knife. “He’s going to pay for his crimes.” 

So what if Delius planned to kill him? Calista stops; she knows it’s bad—but she doesn’t care. “If I’m going to destroy time as we know it, maybe we should let Cordelia die—or better yet—just have him kill me too. Two for the price of one, right?!” 

Delius goes white. “Don’t say that.”

“Why should you care?” 

“Because—!” He closes his eyes as his brows scrunch together. “Because I know who you are, Calista. Because of you, I have a future.” 

She pauses. “A future? How does that make any—oh...” she looks at him, nervous about where her thoughts went to. “Are you related to the Firthes?” 

“Yes.” He reproaches. 

She doesn’t know if she wants to ask further. Calista says gently, “Delius, you don’t understand what it was like to have Cordelia as a mother. She wasn’t good to me, and I can’t bear to think I’ve given up everything, to go home with nothing. Even if that destroys the universe.” 

“But you survive, you learn from her mistakes. She gets better, you get better. The two of you don’t need Radjerd to be happy together.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second.” She feels the tears slide down her face. How can she not; utter helplessness washes over her. “She’s never loved me—I always reminded her of what she couldn’t have.” 

“Maybe, but Aleck and Merise were there for you, were they not? How do you think they feel now that you’re missing?”

“I planned to return home when I knew Radjerd would stay, but...” Calista asks quietly. “Who are you?” 

Delius looks at her with uncertainty in his gaze. “I can’t tell you.” 

“If you don’t, then I’m not leaving.” 

He winces, his fists curling as he utters under his breath, “I’m your son.” 

***

Cordelia’s uncle sure made the man sound scary, she thought to herself as she sits in one of the upstairs sitting rooms. Her aunt had called to meet with her, but she was being held up by something—she’s not sure what it was exactly, but it sounds loud; god, it’s not Radjerd Laurius, was it?! Cordelia didn’t like the sound of him. Why would someone want to kidnap her—for money? Or sex? She flushes at the thought. Her uncle ensured she’d be safe, so she didn’t have to worry about some man who wanted to get her. She sits in thought, weary of her surroundings. Everything seems so familiar, yet, she can’t remember anything else; what’s wrong with her? 

Cordelia’s joined by a woman with sandy brown hair and gentle brown eyes, dressed in a satiny yellow day dress. She’s young—she looks like she could be her uncle’s grown daughter. Behind her, is a woman in a black, shapeless uniform pushing a tea cart, waiting until the woman in front takes her seat. Cordelia watches as she pours the drink, accepting the dainty teacup she’s handed. Her aunt sips her tea, nudging for Cordelia to do the same as the maid leaves the room, closing the door behind her. 

“You’ve had quite a row, my dear.” She says with a sympathetic tone. “But I suppose it’s in the genes.” She places the cup down on the saucer, then onto the table. “Aleck was fussy this morning—I suppose I should be thankful he’s got the energy to be so disobedient, but honestly, it concerns me. I’m worried about my boy.” 

“Aleck?” Cordelia asks aloud. 

She looks upset, but talks anyway. “I know you don’t remember him. I…don’t know why my husband has brought you here. A pretty woman like you, without a mind to stand on.” She frowns, placing both hands on her lap. “I’ll give you that, you look like a Firthe—but to pass you off as my niece—and encouraging me to agree with this farce—what are you to him?” 

“I’m not your niece?” Cordelia gasps. 

“You aren’t.” She breathes out. “I wish he would stop prying on the mentally ill…” Her brown eyes gloss over. 

Cordelia didn’t know what was going on. Did that mean she was mentally ill? If Cornelius and this woman weren’t his uncle or aunt, then who were they to her? Why was she here? 

Panic builds in her chest; she opens her mouth to speak, but the woman cuts her off. “I’m not faulting you for this—in fact, I’m questioning my husband’s morality. He’s involving himself in some shady work and it’s got me rightfully concerned—I don’t want to see another girl like you end up missing.” 

She gulps. 

“Listen, I’m on your side. But you have to act as you did before—he’s a powerful man with resources.” Her weary voice doesn’t ease Cordelia’s concerns. “He’s got Willa Corp on his side.” 

Willa Corp…Cordelia ponders. She’s heard that name before. 

“Can you find out what my husband’s really up to?” She says with hope. “My son’s been saying these things, like he doesn’t belong here. A part of me is saying he’s right—but—I don’t know why I’d think a thought like that to be true. It’s not like the boy isn’t my son.” 

She doesn’t know how to respond to the near-frantic woman in front of her. She can barely keep it together herself. 


	34. Chapter 34

Cordelia sits at the lavish dinner table, an assortment of food lies out for her to view. She is sitting across from Cornelius, his wife Melody, and their son Aleck, who resembles his father more than the mousy appearance of his mother. His commanding presence is hard to ignore, his eyes almost inspecting his surroundings to betray him. If that wasn’t telling…

“It’s salmon and sweet potatoes—dig in, family.” He smiles, taking the first bite. His confidence appears to return at that moment as he chews on his food. Both Melody and Aleck refrain from eating. The smell wafts through Cordelia’s nose—the hunger is now in control of her instincts. She digs in, enjoying each bite. 

She notices that Cornelius is watching, his eyes taking care not to leave hers. Now she feels unsettled. 

“How are you feeling, Cordelia? You’ve had quite the day, haven’t you?” 

“From what I’ve been hearing, she has.” Melody’s eyes focus on her husband as she speaks between bites. “I’ve been keeping her company.” 

“I’m glad you have. You’ve always had a kind heart, my dear.” Cornelius takes another bite. Aleck, his son, doesn’t say much as he nudges the food around his plate with a fork. Cordelia notices that immediately. He then looks at his father, who politely scolds him.

“How do you think you will get big and strong if you don’t take the time to eat your veggies?” Cornelius whispers to his son. 

The boy says nothing, glowering in response to his father’s words. Why did his voice sound condescending? His steel-blue eyes narrow on Cordelia again, his tone lowering when he says, “Now Cordelia, was the beach nice? I heard you were covered in sand.” 

“Dear, please don’t provoke her.” Melody whispers under her breath. “You know she’s having trouble remembering 

“I’m not. A simple question isn’t provoking—it’s me attempting to understand her needs. She was found drifting in the ocean, dear.” 

How did Cornelius know that? She never told him. 

Her stomach unsettlingly swirls. She wants to use the bathroom. 

A sharp feminine scream echoes through the foyer. Cordelia halts, stiffening at the sound. A well-dressed male server stumbles into the dining room, staring wide-eyed at Cornelius. 

“Who is disturbing our meal?” An annoyed Cornelius stands from the table, unimpressed with the server in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Master Firthe, but it’s serious. I have seen an unidentified man and woman upstairs.”

“What?!” Melody wraps her arms protectively around Aleck, who’s expression doesn’t change. Cordelia would find that to be peculiar if she was paying attention. 

“Dear god…Cordelia, Aleck, stay put. Melody, you too. This is a manner that I will handle alone.” Cornelius leaves the table, eager to follow the server. 

“I told you I saw people.” Aleck sticks out his tongue. 

“Please, just because your father left the table doesn’t mean that your manners have to leave with him.” She shakes her head, dramatically sighing as she looks at Cordelia. “Pay no mind, they’re probably other people that he’s restrained against their will. Good for them that they decided to escape.” 

Cordelia gasps. Wasn’t that thought supposed to be a secret? 

“You believe me, Mommy?” The little boy asks excitedly as he gazes at his mother. 

“You’re to behave yourself, Aleck. There’s no reason that you need to act out of line as well. You’re much safer complying with him than disobeying—we went over this.” 

The boy doesn’t speak, his eyes well up with tears instead. 

She’s giving Cordelia the _we talked about this look_ , one that she need not be reminded of. Dinner had been so awkward, this brief reprieve was relieving. But, what if the man in question was the dreaded Radjerd Laurius…should she still fear him if Cornelius wasn’t to be trusted? Maybe this Radjerd wasn’t so bad after all… 

Melody freezes when footsteps enter the room, Cordelia swishes her head around to see a tall, dark-haired man. He’s alone. This wasn’t the stranger the server warned about—it’s an accomplice. 

“Stay away from me,” Cordelia warns as she gets up, her fingers tight around the chair. 

The man speaks in a language she doesn’t recognize, but she can tell his tone is desperate. He wastes no time, the man scooped her up in both arms with a little give from Cordelia’s part. She’s too weak to out-muscle him. In retaliation, she accidentally knocks her dinner onto the floor. Melody screeches, rushing her son from the room. She’s just going to leave Cordelia here with this man?!

“Let me go!” She squeaks, but the dark-haired stranger ignores her plea. He says something to her. but she can’t understand a word he’s saying. It could be something dangerous for all that she knew, but she couldn’t ask. He didn’t appear to understand her either. 

She wriggles in his grasp, but the man ignores her attempts to flee. God, he’s strong, which was a terrible thing for her. Or…was it? She blinks, a strange feeling of calm envelops her entire being. Did she know him?! His embrace feels familiar. It’s enough for him to whisk through the back and up the second flight of stairs. He speaks again, but it sounds like gibberish to her.  

Except for her name. 


	35. Chapter 35

Calista freezes when she locks eyes with Cornelius; the man who wants her dead. He’s younger—resembling her own grandfather Aleck more than the man who tried to shoot her. Delius pulls her arm back to get her to move behind him, but Cornelius’s cold stare keeps her still. 

“You’re an unfortunate girl.” Cornelius shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just leave well enough alone…”

“None of this fracturing is my fault—it’s Aleck’s!” Calista yanks her arm from Delius’s hold—the man who claimed to be her son. She couldn’t think about that now. She doesn’t know where Radjerd went—but she prays he’s with Cordelia. They needed to get the two of them away from this man. 

“Yes, but from what I hear, my son perpetuated his ideals onto you. Because of him, you knew that coming back through time was a possibility. Do you believe there aren’t any consequences for those actions, Calista? You fractured the _core dimension,_ so the fracture will spread throughout all the dimensions attached to this one. The fracture _you_ caused.” 

What did he mean by core dimension? 

“Please, let me handle this.” Calista hears Delius whisper behind her. She’s not done—but—she lets him interrupt. 

Cornelius raises a faded blond brow. “What is it, Cordelius?” 

Cordelius? There’s no way that Calista would name her son that! In fact, she’s not sure how she’d end up with a son at all

“I see _he_ told you my full name.” Delius mutters. “And you mean _prime dimension_ , by the way. All subsidiary dimensions attached to this one will remain unaffected—but only if you listen to me. I want to make a deal with you—Calista will go home to her time, and we will get Fitz and Radjerd to do the same—they’ll warn Aleck of the future he created—and we can solve this mess.” 

Cornelius furrows his brows as he contemplates Delius’s words. Calista didn’t agree, but if it would buy them time, she’d stay complacent.

Cornelius breaks the silence. “I was told that wasn’t possible.”

“Killing Cordelia won’t do you any good.” Calista blurts out without much thought. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“I have no intention of hurting her.” Calista’s shocked by his words. 

“Don’t give me that. I was told  _by you_  that killing Cordelia would eliminate Calista’s existence for good—which was the  _only_ way to save this timeline.” 

“Kill my only grandchild and rid my family line for good? What good would that do me?” He turns to Calista. “I don’t want to kill you—even though I was advised to. Instead, I invited another Aleck to live here—to replace my dying son. I’m aware that I have four generations of Firthes standing before me. Which is why it pains me that I have to prevent your birth. I’m fortunate that you’re Antillan, or this would be hard for me.”

“You bastard!” Delius pushes Calista back as he unveils the knife in his pocket—the pointy end facing the older man’s chest. Delius grits his teeth. “You’ll pay for those words with your life.” 

“Delius!” Calista grabs his sleeve, yanking him back. “Don’t—”

Delius doesn’t budge as he narrows his eyes. “If I end you right here—right now—you’ll die. There won’t be a future Cornelius to worry about.” 

For the first time, Calista sees fear in Cornelius’s eyes. 

“Let’s talk this out, alright?” Cornelius sticks his hands out in front of him as an attempt to keep some distance between them. “Maybe I can come up with a solution that can work out for all of us. You don’t want to do anything rash now, do you?” 

“I want a guarantee. We will fix things our way—not yours. You’re not killing anyone.” 

*** 

Cordelia’s stomach flips when the dark-haired man ducks behind a corner; Cordelia could hear Cornelius’s voice down the hall. Then a female scream—followed by an angry male one. She didn’t recognize either voice. A well-dressed blond man with green eyes joins them. She’s surprised when he speaks to her. 

“You might not remember us, but we’re your friends. Nothing bad will happen to you—it’s Cornelius that you need to be wary of.” The blond man calmly talks to the dark-haired one in another language. 

Wait—did he just say Radjerd?!

God no…this is the man Cornelius warned her about! Cordelia thrashes in his arms, but the blond man covers her mouth to prevent her from screaming. 

“There’s no reason to be scared—Cornelius is the one you need to worry about. We will get you out of here, but you have to be quiet, alright?” 

Cordelia narrows her eyes at him—the man’s hand is still over her mouth. “Sorry, but if you won’t agree, then I will have to keep you silent. Cornelius is ahead, and we need to get the other two to safety. They have the watches we need to get out of here.” 

The man named Radjerd nods, but that doesn’t put Cordelia at ease. 

Soon, Cordelia sees the back of Cornelius, with two strangers—a dark-haired girl and a blond man with glasses—confronting him. The dark-haired girl makes eye-contact with them. 

“He told me you’re a scummy weakling.” Cornelius adopts a snarky tone. “Go on, charge forward. Stab me.” He smiles as he lifts his shirt, revealing a handgun at his side. He pulls it out and points it towards the man with the glasses. “A bastard, and a half-breed mutt. If this is what my line produces, I’m best to rid of you both right now.”

The dark-haired girl beside him pulls out a watch from the man with the glasses' pocket, creating a portal that tears through the air. Cordelia’s shocked into silence. She waves the trio over, “Radjerd, Fitz, quickly!” 

“I’ll try to keep Cornelius at bay—the two of you go—now!" Radjerd rushes forward towards the swirling portal, Cordelia’s ears finding the swirling noise unpleasant. She’s heard it before—but where?

Fitz attempts to shove Cornelius to the side, a loud gunshot echoes through Cordelia’s ears—a loud screech fills his ears. She can’t see anything else, her vision blind to everything around her. 

Then, it hits her. 

Calista?! 

He shot Calista! 


	36. Chapter 36

Cordelia flings her eyes wide open—her form bristles in a man’s embrace. She gasps; his violet eyes grow wide with surprise. The last thing she remembers is, they were flung into a portal—it’s nothing like Cordelia had ever seen before! Wait—where were they? The strange floral décor of this room wasn’t familiar to her—but the surroundings were. This was her room—in the manor—wasn’t it? Her thoughts jumbled around in her head. Instantly, she sees a black-haired girl in the corner, holding out a gun in front of her. She blinks again and the girl disappears. _What the fuck was that?!_

The man holding Cordelia speaks, but she can’t understand him. Cordelia turns her neck to look at him, noticing the stress in his eyes. He’s worried about her. She leaves his embrace as she examines the room. 

“Calista?” The man says. 

Cordelia must have said the name aloud—the man’s eyes fill with tears as he hugs her—his accent doesn’t hide the name. He knows Calista—her fate wounds him.  

Cordelia stiffens suddenly; this was the man Cornelius told her to fear—Radjerd Laurius. 

It’s starting to come together. 

“Radjerd,” Cordelia whispers. 

He blinks, nodding with excitement. “Yes. Radjerd. Me.” He points to himself, soon wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Cornelius, bad. Keep safe.” 

Considering that his wife Melody didn’t trust him, that should have been her first clue. But if he wasn’t her uncle—then who was he to Cordelia? Who was Radjerd to Cordelia? Her heart softens when she sees him—Cornelius’s words made little sense. He was trying to keep them apart—obviously—but why? 

He cups her hand and kisses it. “My Cordelia.” 

His Cordelia…were they together?! Cordelia couldn’t believe that. She didn’t even understand the man when he spoke in his foreign tongue! Maybe it was a mispronunciation. But she didn’t fear him like she was supposed to…No, a twinge in her gut told her that his touch was more than welcomed. His gaze softens when he eyes her lips. “Save. Calista.” 

“Who is Calista?” Cordelia asks softly. 

Radjerd pulls her closer, his frame trembling against hers. She feels his tears glide down her bare shoulder. “Calista, Fitz, Delius…gone.” 

The people she saw with Cornelius—did he mean to say they were dead? He says something in a language she doesn’t understand, while his grip holds her in place. 

Only one of those names was recognizable to her. 

“Get back.” He points to the area above her head. 

“Get back where?” 

He tilts his head in confusion, frustration develops on his face. “H-home.” 

Home, well that’s hard when she didn’t know where that was. Apparently, it wasn’t with Cornelius, as his wife cleanly stated. If Cordelia’s home wasn’t with the Firthes, then where was it? 

Does Radjerd know where she lives?

“Listen, I don’t know how much you understand, but I barely remember anything.”

He stares at her blankly. Right, why would she think he’d understand that? She shakes her head in confusion. She’s being foolish. She taps her fingers on her thigh while thinking of something to say. 

“Where even are we?” Cordelia says with a hint of nervous laughter. Not that she expects an answer from him. She stands up, “We have to be in the manor somewhere, there’s no way that we aren’t.” Talking out loud was helping her cope—maybe it was for the best he didn’t understand her dialect. She needs to move, or else the panic will set in—she didn’t need that. Radjerd stands up, adjusting his pace to match hers. 

Cordelia keeps watch for Cornelius. It may be paranoia hitting her, but she doesn’t want to take the chance that he’ll seek her out. Melody implied that he had taken her, but why—and—where from? What does he gain from a girl who couldn’t remember anything? He didn’t appear interested in her body—which that thought alone gave her the creeps—but there seemed to be something else he wanted. 

She’s startled when Radjerd grabs her hand. “I stay.” 

“That’s fine.” She nods, although did he have to squeeze her hand so tight? Her face flushes as he pulls her forward—he wants to take the lead then…fine by her. If they’re jumped, he’ll be the first to be attacked. 

“Cornelius bad. Watch him.” Watch for him, he meant.

“I got that.” She mutters. In her mind, Cordelia revisits the portal that she and Radjerd travelled through. They were in this hallway when they jumped through—or at least that’s what she remembers—but then why wasn’t she brought to this very spot?

A doorway leading down the hall is open, Cordelia’s curiosity piques. She feels like she knows that place, but isn’t sure why…that very doorframe catching her imagination vividly. Does she know what that place is—her dad’s…office?! Her father lived at the Firthe Manor—but the man wasn’t Cornelius. She’s sure about that.

Then who was her father?

Cordelia yanks her hand out of Radjerd’s, determined to get free from his grasp. She rushes to the office, he follows close behind.

Cordelia opens the door, the oak wooden desk is worn from use—everything else seems in order. Papers are scattered on the desk itself—file folders with the names Calista and Radjerd, respectively. There’s that Calista name again. She reaches for the file, noticing the bundle of pictures inside. They’re held together by a paperclip. She unclips the photos, laying them out on the desk. Radjerd stands beside her.

There is one picture of a baby with high pigtails and a pacifier in her mouth. The next two are of a child with long, dark hair fashioned in a braid, tied together with a giant purple ribbon. Her purple dress matches the ribbon exactly. She isn’t impressed with the person taking the photo—her crossed arms and curled lip displays that very mood. Radjerd picks up the photos and stares at them for a long while before setting them down.

The final one is a graduation photo. She’s dressed in a jade robe; her black hair is braided to the side. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

She can’t explain why her gut sinks at the thought.

“Beautiful girl—like you.” Radjerd smiles as he points to the child photo. She didn’t understand what he’s talking about—wait, was Calista her sister? It infuriates her she can’t remember. Her cheeks flush at his compliment.

“Thanks.”

He nods, patting her shoulder. He’s touchy with his hands, but she doesn’t mind the contact. There’s no way this man wants to hurt her.

Her attention turns back to the photos, and the Laurius, Radjerd file beside it. She’s about to reach for it, but Radjerd reaches for her arm. He shows her one final photo of Calista that she apparently missed—another graduation shot—except she’s standing next to a shorter, indifferent older woman in a green dress…Cordelia gasps.

No—the similarities were too close. 

Was this woman Cordelia?! 

 


	37. Chapter 37

Cordelia holds the picture in her hand, she could barely hold it steady.  She can’t deny it—this is a picture of her older self—next to the black-haired girl named Calista. The one she can barely remember.

Radjerd doesn’t say anything, giving the space for Cordelia to take everything in—or that’s what she figures he’s doing. It’s hard to say exactly what he’s doing—she could barely understand him except for some very chopped up words.

“Check house, come.” He tugs on her arm. “Cornelius anywhere.”

 _Cornelius anywhere._ Well, that could mean just about anything. She sighs—how was she mixed up with a man who barely understood her language?

“No, I’m not done.” She refuses to budge, needs to investigate this office. She remembers that this place belongs to her father—but _what was his name?_ How did she know this place belonged to her father, but couldn’t even remember his name? She had to follow the hunch.

“Cornelius come anytime!” Radjerd says again, his voice stressed with urgency.

“Yeah, I know, _Cornelius anywhere.”_ She didn’t mean to mimic his accent. She jerks her hands up, her eyebrows furrowing in an attempt to find hidden clues. There needs to be something that can connect her to her father…or at least, tell her who the hell he is. She pushes the leather chair out of the way to open the desk drawers. Inside is a couple more files, and a very important document that had a name scribbled across the middle—Aleck Firthe.

That’s the little boy’s name! Was that…even possible? Her stomach drops. No, _he couldn’t be it._ He’s a child! He couldn’t have any ties to her—especially as her father. The mere idea—impossible! Yet, a picture of the older woman remains on the oak desk—an older version of herself.

God, this is so fucked up!  “Aleck Firthe!” She says to Radjerd, handing him the deed to the manor. Maybe he knew something about the man.

“Your dad.” He shakes his head. So he knows her well enough to confirm it.

Her stomach goes hollow when she asks, “Did we time travel?”

“Time travel. Hop dimension.” He does a hopping motion with his fingers.

Now dimensions were involved? Ugh, maybe it’s a blessing she can’t piece everything together quite yet.

“Get rid of Cornelius, get rid of problem.” He says again, but his tone implies he’s trying to reason with her.

“Just a minute.” She searches more through the desk—there has to be more evidence. She digs through the cabinet—pictures of the black-haired girl are buried between papers—except, this one. She picks up a photo, a brunette woman smiles back at her, holding a bunch of textbooks. Cordelia stands next to her with an indignant scowl on her face. Noralyn…the girl’s name is Noralyn! _Her dad took this picture._ Cordelia grips the desk as pieces of her past flood through her mind’s eye. Her semesters at the University of Thermidor, the country of St. Antilla, the free feeling away from home. 

She gasps, the whirlwind of realization is drowning her.

“Cordelia?”

<Just a minute—> She stops, the recognition strong. Did she know St. Antillan? Of course!

The touchy Radjerd wraps his arms around her. It’s restricting her breathing.

<Don’t squeeze me so tight.>  

<God, I didn’t know how I was going to manage…I can hardly speak Weltish!>

<You did fine—please—let go.> She squeaks. Radjerd corrects his mistake.

He laughs a bit sheepishly, <What do you remember?>

<Not everything. But I have to know, why is Cornelius dangerous?> That part of her mind’s still foggy.

<Do you know that he’s your grandfather?>

<I thought he was my uncle—no wait, his wife confirmed that he wasn’t.> Cordelia feels her body grow cold. No, the man isn’t her uncle—he’s her _grandfather._ <I…I do.>

<He…god, I don’t know how to say this to you—wants to kill you to prevent Calista from being born. I don’t have to explain who she is, do I? You seemed to recognize her in the pictures.>

<That doesn’t make sense unless you’re saying I’m that girl’s mother?>

<I am.> Radjerd sounds nervous.

<God—I can’t…> She rubs her forehead.

<She came from the future.> That doesn’t help her calm down.

<Can we—well—talk about something else for a bit?> It’s more a plea than a suggestion. <What are you to me?>

<I’m…> It looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. <We’re—we decided to give dating a try. But, I should be open with you. First and foremost, I’m Calista’s father—which is _why—uh—we decided to give this a shot._ >

<Calista’s _father—_ oh, god—don’t tell me, am I pregnant?>

<Well, if you are, it’s not mine.> His violet eyes shift uncomfortably. <We’ve never…>

<—Oh.> She wants to bury her face in her hands. <If she’s our daughter, when are we supposed to have her?>

<I’ll tell you the rest if we can confirm that Cornelius didn’t follow us.> He cuts her off abruptly. Did this also make him uncomfortable? <We can discuss specifics _after_ that.>

Now she’s unsure if she wants to—god—did she want the rest of her memories back?

She decides to follow him out of the office, staying close behind him as they searched the home. The weirdness of it all was, it’s just them. No one’s in sight. Yet, the facilities worked—power is on, the toilet is running, the taps run hot and cold. Someone had to live here, but who?

The pantry was even stocked. Not that Cordelia knew how to cook…she had staff that did. Because this is her house.

She’s a Firthe! Cordelia keeps that revelation to herself.

<This is a bit too convenient.> Radjerd pauses as he crosses his arms. <It can’t be just us here. This place is way too big.>

<I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but that clock on the wall has said 8:33 for the last…ten minutes?> It seemed like time here had stopped. <Is this place frozen in time?>

<God, this is so weird.> Cordelia clams up. It’s better than her floating around on the beach—the Cornelius trying to convince her that it was her fault why she was out there. He’s so messed up—how could she ever think so highly of that awful man? Well, he had once been nice to her. It made sense that she liked him. He was a charming man. But…it was all a ruse. A damn, fucking ruse.

She should have known.

And now, he was after her _daughter._ Who Cordelia couldn’t even remember, except for the name—she wasn’t even well acquainted with the father, either. She grits her teeth in frustration.

All of this, just to kill a girl…

<Why does he want to kill Calista?>

<Because according to him, she will destroy time itself.>

<That’s a stupidly bold claim.>

<I don’t believe him either, but as long as he believes that, your life is in danger.>

<So we either kill him or…I guess we have no other choice but to.> Cordelia frowns. As she speaks, feelings for the man burst through her chest. This man was her grandfather—who she had loved and respected—yet, he’d willingly off his own granddaughter for a claim he couldn’t prove.

Radjerd wraps his arm around Cordelia reassuringly. <We’ll make it. I promise.>


	38. Chapter 38

“There’s no way you’ll succeed.” The way Cornelius says this disturbs Calista. He had seen with his own eyes Cordelia and Radjerd’s gallant escape—thanks to Delius’s quick thinking. He took the watch back from Calista and pocketed the watch, but his eyes don’t leave Cornelius. The older man put the gun back into his holster, shaking his head in exasperation. “Seems pointless, you holding your knife out like that…” Yet, the trouble in Delius's eyes makes her unsettled. _Don’t do anything stupid…_

“They’re gone, so give up.” Delius hisses. 

The old man smiles. “I suppose you're right.” 

“Don’t play coy!” Delius grips his knife even tighter. “Killing us is pointless now!” 

“Yes, while it is a trifle to get them now, I will leave it up to my—how do I say it without sounding ill-minded—future self?”

“What?!” Delius’s voice is full of rage.

“It doesn’t matter where they go, he knows where they are at every given moment.” Calista’s sick. Their efforts were for nothing. 

Fitz growls, “What makes you think an old man like your future self can stop them?” 

Cornelius raises his hand, “Now Fitzpatrick, there’s no need for silly questions—” Delius, fed up with his musings, takes the plunge and pummels his arm forward, the knife burrows into Cornelius's chest. With almost a sense of awe, his steel-blue eyes blink as he wavers in place. 

“That’s what you get for killing my mother.”

“Delius, get back!”

Before Calista can react, a gunshot goes off, the gun smokes as Delius’s body falls limp on the marble tile. A pool of blood lines his fallen form. Shaken, Calista gasps as Fitz grabs her shoulders, pulling her back. 

Delius—he can’t be—NO! 

Cornelius stumbles back, the knife still lodged in his chest. He attempts to grab the handle but his trembling makes it difficult. Calista breaks away from Fitz’s grasp as she kneels beside him in shock. She carefully flips him on his back—oh thank god it only hit his shoulder. 

“We have to go...that gunshot will alert everyone in the house.” 

Fitz need not explain, Calista gets it. Fighting the tears in her eyes, she begs, “Delius...come on, open your eyes, we have to go before he can catch up. We need you to use your watch!”

He doesn’t respond, the blood soaks through to her dress. “Delius!”

Fitz leans down using his arms to lift Delius off the floor. He stares at Calista. “Grab his gun before he has the sense to use it.” 

Calista does as Fitz instructs, swirling around to grab the older man's weapon. She kneels down, easily able to pry it from the older man's clammy palms. Delius got him right in the chest. 

“Bitch...” He barely manages to say before passing out completely. 

Calista puts the gun into safety mode before she puts it into her dress pocket. 

She freezes, feeling a new pair of eyes on her. 

A small boy stares at Calista as he hugs the railing. God...how long was Aleck here?!

“Shit!” Fitz whispers, but Calista stares at the boy; this would be seared into his memory for his entire life. That is the only thing Calista regrets. 

Cornelius’s wife follows after her son, her gasp more in surprise than alarm. 

“Just...don’t hurt my son.” She pleads as she pries him off the railing and into her embrace. “The sins of his father are not his to bear.” 

“I'm...sorry.” Calista wasn’t, but she feels she needs to offer this woman some comfort. 

She stares as her husband. “His crimes would catch up to him, eventually.”

“Calista, we need to go. If he’s right, we can get to Radjerd and Cordelia before....he does. Delius won’t come to in time, you’ll have to operate the watch in his stead.”

Calista fumbles around for the watch in Delius's pocket, trying to ignore the blood dripping from his shoulder. She feels around for it—ah! She pulls it out, the watch much more advanced than her own—she studies it briefly. With a gut feeling, she hits the side button, as another portal forms before her very eyes. That is...lucky. 

Calista tries not to think about the family behind her. If she were the young Aleck, she couldn’t even understand how that felt. God... if only there was another way. 

“Get through, now!” Calista says to Fitz, who holds Delius secure in his arms. He’s stronger than he looks. As she turns her head, she sees the boy kneeling next to his father, holding his hand (as instructed from his mother most likely) as the man’s jaw hangs open.

She holds her breath as realization sets in. 

Cornelius is dead. 

 

Just…where did Delius’s watch bring them to? 

Calista stares in awe as she sees crumbling bits of earth suspended in air—a twilight hue transitions into a brilliant blue, a misty red soon taking its place. The sight should have terrified her, but it didn’t. She’s never seen anything so beautiful. 

“Calista, this is bad. This is exactly what happened in my dimension,” Fitz says, Delius still leaned against his shoulder. It’s eerie how similar the two look. “I’m worried that where we are—will soon fall to the void.”

“It might be the same as that pocket we were in before—remember when we saw Radjerd and…Delius that first time—” Worry erupts in her chest—it’s too sudden for her to comprehend. 

Fitz doesn’t need her to explain. “I—don’t know if we can help him. He’s bleeding out too much. I can try to stop the blood but we don’t have much time to do it.” 

Calista panics, “Before you say it, we’re not leaving him. I’ll carry him if I have to!” 

“I wasn’t going to suggest that we leave him—for fuck’s sake, I’m not a monster. But, I wouldn’t have high hopes. We’re nowhere near medical care.” 

“You don’t have to say it like that!” Calista clenches her teeth; her fists are white to the knuckle. 

“I’m sorry.” Fitz frowns. “You’re right. Try the watch again, maybe we can find a facility that’s still operational. My only worry is if we do, the _other_ Cornelius might get to Cordelia before we do.” 

God…he’s right. 

It was her life, or Delius’s. 


	39. Chapter 39

Cordelia feels the slowness of time go by, but there’s no proof of time’s passing. She wakes up in the room that would have been hers—staring at the same ceiling she grew tired of in her timeline. She swears that a couple of days have gone by, she’s slept periodically throughout the perpetual twilight. During the time Radjerd and her were awake, they had searched the house for clues of where they were, and, for Cornelius—but nothing pointed to him living in the manor, or anyone, for that matter. The only indicator was the pantry and fridge were full of food. Cordelia noted that there was a locked cabinet in her mother’s office—but neither Cordelia or Radjerd could find the key. 

The weirdest thing about this place; there were no phones, or cars to be seen on the property. Unless they wanted to walk on foot, they were stuck in Diamond Lake Estates…if it was even called that in this realm. 

Cordelia guesses she only had two hours of sleep, her eyelids are heavy with exhaustion. The curtains did nothing to help block out the light, and she was too tired to find something to block the sun’s rays from coming into the window—even if it was setting, it was brighter on the east side of the house. 

Disgruntled, she sluggishly leaves her bed. Maybe Radjerd had better luck—if her memory serves her, he’s in one of the west wing guest rooms. She closes her door, looking at the bare walls—all the paintings are gone—which Cordelia didn’t really care about, she thought the portraits of her family members looked silly and over the top. She knocks on each of the doors, but no one answers—until she gets to the last one at the end of the hall. Radjerd had stayed in this room before…right? She can’t recall—her recent memory is slightly hazy. 

Cordelia hears a rustle on the other side, but no voice. She turns the door handle, discovering that the room isn’t locked. She enters, seeing the disturbance in the dark-haired man’s face half-buried under a white quilt. 

His violet eyes peer at her, then widen when he realizes who’s standing at the foot of his bed.

<Cordelia?> 

<I can’t sleep.> 

He sits up, his hair is messy from his rest. His torso is bare, and well-toned, Cordelia might add. God, she hopes he’s wearing some form of pants underneath. <And you say you’ve been to St. Antilla... Our days are long and our nights are short in the summertime.> 

<I went home for the summers,> Cordelia crosses her arms. <But I can go if I’m bothering you.> Her tone is stiff. 

<You’re no bother. If you’re looking for some company…> He shifts over, presenting the newly empty space beside him. <…Join me.> 

<Well, that’s not exactly why I came in here—> 

<Cordelia, It’s not like I’m inviting you to sleep with me—well—in that sense, anyway.> Radjerd lets out a chuckle. <Although if that’s what you’re after, I’m not going to say no.> 

Cordelia’s cheeks grow warm at that remark. Her heart flutters—god—was she really so helpless over the sight of an attractive, stunning man? It’s not like she could avoid _that_ part forever—Calista’s existence depended on them having _relations_ eventually…

<Move over,> She says sharply as she joins him. She’s too tired to fudge any other reason. <I…just want to sleep. Maybe another person in the room will help with that.> 

<I have no objections,> Radjerd raises his hands in the air. He shares the quilt while maintaining the distance between them. Cordelia nestles into the soft pillow, the bed is comfortable, at least. Well, would this place truly be a Firthe Manor if the beds were made of poor quality?

Within minutes, she hears the soft heavy breaths of a man’s slumber. Had he already passed out? Lucky him… Cordelia lies awake for a moment longer, staring at the man lying next to her. Would…it be wrong to move closer? Cordelia shifts her weight to the right, purposely leaning her arm against his. The skin-to-skin contact relaxes her. She shouldn’t be so rigid, she’s kissed the man before for crying out loud. 

Letting out a deep breath, Cordelia leans against him, wrapping an arm around his torso. The heat of his body provides a comfort she didn’t know she needed. It’s nice. 

<You can lie on me,> She’s startled to hear Radjerd’s whisper as he turns on his back. She says nothing as she allows her head to lean on his chest—his heartbeat soothes her even more. He gently places his hand on her back and rubs it reassuringly. <If we’re stuck here, I’m glad it’s with you.> 

Why is he saying such a silly thing? They hardly know each other…is the last thing Cordelia thinks about before slumber calls to her. 

 

<Good morning,> Cordelia can hear him whisper near her ear—her dress is hiked up against her hips—god; she didn’t need him to have a full viewing of her—good thing the sheets were covering her bottom half. 

<Can I _really_ say it’s morning?> Cordelia sighs. She didn’t feel as tired, so she could at least say that. Sharing a bed with him did a lot for her nerves, she feels as close to relaxed as she could probably get. 

<I suppose not, but why don’t we do some breakfast. I say, if we have to live in this perpetual timeless hell, we might as well enjoy it.> 

It couldn’t hurt to relax a little bit…right? 


End file.
